


Good Bones

by bgiu



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Gen, It's Not That Bad I Promise, M/M, Magical Realism, Pandemics, a lot of environmental prose, you're better off reading it yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgiu/pseuds/bgiu
Summary: There is trouble. There's always trouble.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Swords and Hearts 2020





	Good Bones

**Author's Note:**

> **Code:** SAH357  
>  **Prompt:** Baekhyun is the head of the country’s research and development institute and Chanyeol is the head of the military. They don’t usually go well with each other because each of them has their own priorities when it comes to ideas and policies. But wait, oh look at that, isn’t it the best time for an apocalypse to happen so that the two of them could be forced to work together in order to save the people and the country?  
>  **Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and none of the characters are owned by Swords and Hearts. All creative rights and ownership of this particular work of fiction lie with the respective authors.**
> 
> **Author's Note:** hello! many, many thanks to the mods for hosting this fest, and for giving me infinite extensions and being so kind about it. and my friends--you'll know who u are, for encouraging me into writing and finishing this! This fic has been written through many a breakdowns (but nottoworry, it is not a tearjerker, I think it's quite a happy fic!) and late-nights and strange forays into writing. It's not much (it's barely 20k words! I see people writing 100k all the time), but I've given a lot of my soul to it. I hope I captured whatever I read of politics and administration in SouKor decently--I could only research to the best of my ability to figure some things out. A lot of stuff in here may seem fiction but is in fact fact, and a lot of the stuff that we wish was fact is fiction. Such is life. I hope you enjoy the fic! Please do leave your thoughts, even if they're critical, in the comments. I would love to know whether this was read the way I wanted to read it. I hope you also enjoy the music, I played those tracks on repeat while writing their chapters.

How many of us can say we have witnessed birds fly? We know they do it with wings, yes, and we know which wing suggests what bird, but which of us has had the fortune of being able to discern one flap of wings from another in its brevity? To find, between a cacophony of feathers against rubbery skin, between movements, a creature suspended in air, holding on and pushing through at the same time? How do birds actually fly?

The owls, it seems, soundlessly. Birds are creatures of wonder, of a scientific surrealism. If Newton had not thought of that first apple, we perhaps would still be thinking birds are simply magic. But has the knowledge that these tiny things actively defy gravity made them any less so? The owl’s flight is magical in its silence. It has a tiny body, and very, very large wings for that tiny body. When it flies, it glides, causing minimum movement of air, minimal friction, no sound in its trail. The synergy of each feather and the wind it touches as the owl passes through the world without us every hearing a peep is of our interest here, for what brings such coordination to life? Who created the wings and what told the bird, peeking out of a cracked egg, to spread them and fly? It is impossible to find answers to questions such as these, for they are as painfully simple as they are complex. Even if told the way to fly is to simply look down a high mountain, to take a leap of faith, to not think about gravity but its defiance—which of us will put a foot forward?

And yet.

And yet, sometimes we veer on the edge too long to realise we have been suspended mid-air all along, directionless and hanging. We might be mid-air, but to fly we would have to _fly._ And this story takes flight in one such small room, where a bunch of very important wingless humans have been brought together for very important discussions about—surprisingly—very important not-wingless birds. There is a crisis, you see. And it’s big enough to have the Ministry of Environment, Ministry of Science and ICT _and_ the entire Ministry of Defence confused.

It’s pigeons.

Or pigeon poop, to be precise. Let’s start with the facts first as the President of South Korea is currently doing. “South Korea, like, perhaps any other place in the world, has a considerable pigeon population. We do not know the exact numbers—“ at this, he looks pointedly at a short man standing in front of him, who promptly glares at him right back. President Lee knows not to take offence, Kyungsoo’s round eyes and astigmatism are no cause for concern to him. And yet he is aware that the glare directed at him is not merely one caused by short-sightedness and Kyungsoo’s inability to find the right lens for his eyes—the man is angry. Sooguen moves on, however, knowing Kyungsoo will have his time to speak. “—Since the declaration of pigeons as harmful wildlife in 2009. Which was when the last data—“ the President picks up another sheet from the folders laid carefully in front him and turns it around to show his audience, “—was recorded. Almost 35,000 in Seoul alone in 2009. Laying up to two eggs every day and hatching out of them every twenty. Average lifespan: six years. So, suffice to say, our current numbers,” and at this, the President’s voice turns grave, “are a lot.”

There is neither argument nor shock from the audience, for they all are well updated on the situation. Only people living under rocks would not be aware of how pigeons had been able to double, and then quadruple, the country’s Covid cases. Let’s go back to pigeon poop, as our short and round-eyed Kyungsoo has. “In 2009 pigeons were declared harmful wildlife after it was noticed that they carried pathogenic disease germs in their excreta, besides the general issue of them defacing buildings and making a lot of noise, and them obliterating avian biodiversity in some cities due to their adaptability. We have been trying to figure ways of managing pigeon population ever since, but it certainly was not a priority. Funds for a bird census are impossible to allocate amidst the yearly dust and _flooding_crises.” Kyungsoo’s speech was as impassioned as the data he provided—for what can data speak of itself? It is only in how we read the information that data speaks. Chanyeol has nothing to offer but shock, his subordinates gaping right behind him.

“We-we don’t have any data...” he stutters.

“That’s what I said.”

“I understand that cases have increased due to avian transmission,” a calm voice chimes in. “Some of our own officers on parole contracted it while on-duty because of this. But is the—uhm, excreta that potent? And the spread that vicious? Aren’t we vaccinating already?” Minseok’s face betrays his worry as he takes a handkerchief out to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Kyungsoo, ever-so-responsible, is the one to answer him.

“It’s not just the incident of a bird pooping randomly on you, although it is definitely about that. An unmanageable population means the virus sits in open areas where the excreta might have collected. It sits on everyone who has the so-called fortune of a bird pooping on them. It sits on pets and children being taken to parks, and the homeless on the street who do not have a roof to hide under. Of course, viruses spread faster with human-to-human contact, but since we are unaware of the numbers, it is possible that a heavy pigeon population has amassed enough disease that it is a cause for worry. Although they are only carriers,” Kyungsoo finishes gently, hesitant in making bigger villains out of oblivious birds.

“It is obvious that if this is not controlled we will only have more cases of virus transmission and death on our hands. And so far we have little idea on how to control them. Kyungsoo-ssi, keeping in mind the gravity of the situation, I have to ask you—what is our best shot here?” Worry is evident in the President’s voice.

“I—“ Kyungsoo’s head hangs in defeat. “I don’t have a plan.”

Contrary to what the scene demands, the Ministry of Environment head is not met with shocked gasps or affronted exclamations. Every person in the room has faced failure and death at their hands—who are they to judge?

“Vaccinations are still being given. It might take some time for production and manufacture for the next three rounds, but soon enough we will have the entire country vaccinated. Can’t we release health advisories?” Chanyeol is the first to ask.

A new voice answers, then, making Chanyeol flinch immediately at the unwanted familiarity. “Soon is not soon enough. And health advisories hardly work—it’s not like us Koreans are fond of pigeons. And yet.”

And yet. Baekhyun does not need to finish that sentence. The numbers are grim enough already, almost 15% of them being men who had been serving the country in the past year. The Ministry of Defence could not take any more loss, and young minister Baekhyun, a better strategist than pilot, even if his flying skills had earned him many a medals before promotion, was very much aware of this fact. As much as he was aware of Park Chanyeol’s jaw ticking the minute he had started speaking, as if the scientist could not hear anymore.

“Byun-ssi, do you really think our vaccines—” “Baekhyun is right,” Kyungsoo’s gravelly voice cut across Chanyeol’s. “Besides, we do not know if the pigeons will carry newer virus strains. At this point, managing the population is the only option.”

“Kyungsoo... do you expect us to shoot these birds?” Baekhyun’s voice came perplexed, eliciting a chuckle masked into a cough from his rival at the other end of the table. Park Chanyeol was lucky they were wearing masks, Baekhyun tutted internally.

“Of course not. It’s just... well there have been some attempts at managing pigeon populations. There’s something called a Batman Park in Melbourne where this was attempted. Hatching pods placed in a park away from the city so that the birds could be encouraged to roost outside. Less rats in the sky that way.” Kyungsoo’s subordinate Seulgi answered for him. Her superior continued, “We can try to get the birds to frequent these pods, but we won’t know where they go, or come from, we cannot track them.”

“Are you asking for a tracker? We can build them, provided the budget is approved,” Chanyeol stated, looking at the President for confirmation that he received through a nod.

Kyungsoo nodded, his eyes zoned out. “Trackers will be necessary, but we still do not know how to get them on the birds. Or to direct birds to hatching pods. One squawk and the entire lot will fly, never to come back again. Think of the scale.”

Minseok cleared his throat. “We could provide some air tracking, set up transmitters in different spots. What else?” he turned to Baekhyun, who had been looking thoughtfully at the file in front of him so far.

“Well...the best way to have bird poop is to have the bird bring it to you, no?” He chuckled, eliciting a few sniggers from the table. “Let us try to figure ways to tame the birds into submission. If not, we might have to rely on Chanyeol-ssi’s brilliance for some mass avian extermination.”

“No invention of mine will be used for murder _again_. Hasn’t the MoD taken enough?” Chanyeol smiled sarcastically at the short man on the other side of the table. Baekhyun’s face was set in a grim line, as it usually was when the two spoke to each other. Chanyeol, however, could not care less, the mere face of the Minister of National Defence reminding him of things he was better off not remembering. Things repulsive. Unpleasant. Violent.

Minseok, the Chairman of Joint Chief Staffs, Baekhyun’s subordinate by just one rank and right arm by many, many such incidents where he had to speak on behalf of the MoND to Chanyeol, head of the Ministry of Science and ICT, took charge again to assuage the irate scientist. “Chanyeol-ssi, we can also be accused of biowarfare if the birds fly too far north. The DMZ already has considerable wildlife which is difficult to manage in the middle of statutory war. We do not want any more soldiers to die on either side.”

“Minseok, I understand that very well. But what you are asking is not only wrong by principle, but also terrible for press—what about animal rights—“

“Chanyeol-ssi,” Baekhyun felt compelled to interrupt. “We do not want to kill birds just as much as you. This was only suggested as a final option. If we can come up with ways to tame these birds into following decided tracks, or ensure humans stay further away from them, the MoD will have no reason to intervene.”

Chanyeol clicked his tongue. A timid Seulgi was heard across the silent room.

“We.... actually do need the MoD. This is what Kyungsoo-ssi and I have come up with, along with Jennie of course.” The said girl heard her name and stood up to bow, taking Seulgi’s cue. “We spoke to avian specialists across the nation and some over call. The birds can, to some degree, be trained into submission, but it is a specialised task. It needs training. Moreover, avian specialists are not necessarily all pigeon-keepers, and the ones who can help us here are few in number, at least if we go by professional qualifications.”

“Something is better than nothing,” Baekhyun pointed out.

Jennie nodded. “Yes, but these are still dismal numbers and we cannot guarantee their success rate, as these applications are mostly researchers. There are... what the Americans call pigeon _fanciers_ , however, who might be more efficient at the job. People dedicated to racing pigeons. But still few in number.”

“What are ‘pigeon fanciers’?” someone was bound to ask.

Seulgi answered this time. “Pigeon racers. We know historically pigeons have made for very efficient and useful companion birds, since they are excellent navigators. Some people raise pigeons like their own pets, companions, and may sometimes race them for sport. It’s a very... _niche_ field. But they understand how to form bonds with the birds better than our ornithologists would. At least, enough to train us in being able to do so quicker.”

“Then have them flown in. What exactly is the problem?”

It was the numbers again. “Only front-line workers and the people in this room have been vaccinated so far,” Seulgi pointed out. “And we will need people who have received the full dose to train the birds along with these fanciers, since we have found only a handful of them in number. As the President is aware, we cannot have anyone else fly in.”

Sooguen nodded, humming, looking thoughtfully at the file below him. “Then, I am afraid I must ask something strange of the people in this room today...”

—

Numbers can be quite deceiving. Chanyeol had worked long enough with data to have all illusions of the simplicity of unitary method be demolished. It is easy to suggest that twelve people barring the President be divided into _three_ camps across the country to manage pigeons of all things. The math would say four each. But the math does not account for the need of science and defence personnel in the running of the country, especially when a pandemic is involved; population-dense—and we’re not talking humans here—zones; and Chanyeol’s general dislike for all things and people MoD, otherwise why would he be sitting in a car with Byun Baekhyun of all people, suffering his presence?

The man wasn’t doing anything to tick him off particularly. Sure, he put an arm over Chanyeol the first time their car felt a speed bump, but once Chanyeol had glared at him enough to scare him off for touching the scientist, the pilot had shut his gaping mouth and, muttering an apology, kept to himself. Verily, Baekhyun seemed innocent as they came—one could hardly assume him to be the Minister of Defence of an entire nation, that too, one constantly at war. Dressed in seemingly warm trousers and a casual half-sweater tucked in with a clean white shirt, Byun looked ready for a picnic. But Chanyeol had had the pleasure of seeing Byun in action, many times, in fact. On field, the man—then boy, had been sharp, quick as light and elegant even in his ferocity, if being so was possible. And yet, Chanyeol could not find it in himself to admire any of that elegance—how could he, when Byun stood for so much he disliked?

Chanyeol forced himself to clear his head, the dislike for Byun would have to be pushed aside given the situation. Three teams had been stationed in different camps set up across the country by the President to conduct their pigeon-hatching-raising-managing mission. Not killing, Chanyeol would not let it come to that, and he knew Kyungsoo would not either. This is why he had insisted on being on the camp with Byun, just to ensure the man would not pull one on him. Each team had required an MoS member anyway, just to ensure the trackers worked properly. Mingyu and Chaeyoung, his best engineers, had done a splendid job in producing a satisfactory tracker model for trained pigeons and tracker rings for untrained follower lot in a short time, but the teams would still need scientists onboard to ensure the trackers were not damaged, or repaired if damaged. Sehun had only been too happy to join the team headed towards Gwangju since Kim Junmyeon was in it. That boy had no shame about mixing with Ministry of Defence folk, clearly. Jongin had thankfully not left his side and was in the car ahead of them with Kyungsoo. Chanyeol was pretty sure this was more because of Jongin’s infatuation with Kyungsoo and less because of his desire for Chanyeol’s company or any principles whatsoever, but he couldn’t really complain. If Jongin manages to find the love of his life in a pandemic then Chanyeol could not begrudge him the achievement.

All this, of course, left Chanyeol with Byun again, who was now snoring quietly on his side. Weren’t military men supposed to be disciplined? Whatever happened to the stick lodged in Byun’s ass that ensured his back was always at a ninety degree angle? He used to be more poised when he was a pilot—god forbid, was the man _ageing?_

Surely the other side of thirty brought with it no such slouching? Chanyeol would know, him and Byun were the same age and the scientist felt no sleep overpower him. Well, if the Minister of Defence wanted an early retirement then he would be no one to complain, Chanyeol thought, plugging his earphones in, letting Beenzino’s voice fill his ears. The road ahead was long and full of terror. Bird terror, but one gets the point.

**_Beenzino: Aquaman_ **

Their camp was not too far from Seoul. The others, in Gwangju and Daegu—close enough to populated cities, would take longer to get to, but Baekhyun still found it pertinent to inform Junmyeon and Minseok he had reached his site. It’s not like he had any other family to inform anyway, so might as well tell the two who cared.

The camp itself was set up near an open field that could be confused for a park, or a golfing range. Some small restaurants and motels lay ahead and behind, ensuring their stay did not draw suspicion. It was not that the mission itself required constant vigilance, but Baekhyun knew they could not risk having so many government officials in one place without some security. He had promptly had tested soldiers appointed to each campsite for safety, making sure each had access to their own quarters and decent shift routines so that they would not have a weak link on site. Baekhyun had already failed his own requirement by slacking off in the car—how could he have slept through the journey? He was supposed to be strong and alert, especially around and for Park Chanyeol. It did not matter that the man was constantly infuriated with him—or at him, or both, because he had never been able to pinpoint the origin of Chanyeol’s anger, just passively accepted it. Therefore, he could not blame Chanyeol for not waking him up either, the scientist probably preferred him asleep. Dead even. What was it to him that Baekhyun had spent the past night awake finding comfort in soju because he could not stop thinking about him? This mission? What was at stake—the losses that could probably happen if things didn’t go well? So Baekhyun _was_ the one at fault for slacking off here, and he would have to get himself together and ensure he gets a good night’s rest every night. Bizarre as the mission was, it was imperative that it be successful—or as successful as training a bunch of birds to not fly a certain route could be.

God, those fanciers could not get there soon enough.

The sprawling green over their site did not have any pigeons yet. No number large enough to be spotted by Baekhyun anyway, and as a pilot he was a good spotter, to put it mildly. Even the work of attracting species would have to be done by them. At some point, Baekhyun mused, Kyungsoo must have debated wearing a pigeon costume himself to infiltrate the enemy.

Baekhyun’s smile had not gone unnoticed by his rival, who was standing next to him as they surveyed the site, Kyungsoo and Kim Jongin of ICT in tow. Chanyeol had promptly scoffed and distanced himself. There were a few other personnel in the perimeter, checked and appointed by Baekhyun himself to tail them, but they had been instructed to not come too close. For all intents and purposes this was a two-week break for the four of them, one which only Kim Jongin seemed to be delighted about.

“Do you think we could use one of those whistles, Kyungsoo-ssi? Like the ones for dogs? Do you have any pets?”

Kyungsoo, to his credit, was maintaining his neutral expression and not responding to the incredulous suggestion. If they could whistle birds into attraction why would the fanciers need to be here in the first place? “The men will be here any moment, since these three are being driven down from Seoul. I have discussed some matters with them already, so we will hold a briefing an hour from now, following which we can decide how to proceed for today. Until then, let us find our rooms and unpack. This is going to be a long activity.”

Baekhyun was quick to heed to Kyungsoo’s suggestion, seeing no point surveying any more of the wasteland they were in. How this could flourish into a bird sanctuary was beyond him.

Of course, pigs are known to fly and hell has warmed over us multiple times, so that same wasteland would bloom come spring with a thousand flowers, each flower for a pigeon. But who is Baekhyun, or anyone, to know? With some curious microbial magic a Hawaiian bobtail squid can emit the glow of a starry night from its body, but as it covers the top with sand which of us finds the courage to look underneath, spot stars in the ocean? We are as wont to the comforts of oblivion as the Minister of Defence, who never had the courage to investigate why the Head of the Ministry of Science disliked him so much. Or perhaps he did, perhaps it was a truth he knew but chose to never recover like the open stars below—for truth is as terrifying as it is freeing. And Baekhyun was stuck.

“I-erm...” not a sound would come out from his throat. In front of him, his self-proclaimed enemy, rival, object of his permanent attention, was standing wrapped in nothing but a towel. In his hotel room. Which was probably not his own, for a scientist like Chanyeol would not make the mistake of walking into someone else’s room, unpacking his luggage, and stripping himself for a shower—all in the span in of ten minutes. Which Baekhyun should not have wasted talking to the hotel staff about kitchen supplies and arrangements. Because. Again. Chanyeol was standing in front of him wrapped in nothing but a towel.

At least the scientist understood Baekhyun would not deliberately make such a mistake. He was probably _only_ a tyrant in the scientist’s eyes, not a pervert. What a relief! Chanyeol’s only response was to lower his eyes and look away, hoping Baekhyun would take the cue, which he did as he promptly bowed in apology, his ‘sorry’ coming out deeper than expected, and left to find his own room, which had been the next one all along. Cursed layout, Baekhyun thought.

Cursed everything.

**_Fancy Footwork-Chromeo_ **

Is it truly necessary to think of pigeon fanciers as the costume-clad characters we are imagining them to be? Feathers in a hat there, perhaps a lot of strange layers worn over each other, beads wrapped around one wrist, strange necklaces around the other. Theirs must be the curved boots of any good leather advertisement, and faces so mysterious they would seem to belong nowhere. Is this the only way we see our fanciers—three of who entered the hotel reception just now?

Or is it possible to see functionality beyond our judgements? Maybe the feathers are keepsakes of old friends that frequent the seventh sky now, the strange coats thrifted together to not waste any more sweat of a sweatshop, the strange boots kept together for both functionality in a cold country and the bittersweet thought of an animal hide not going to waste. The beads, of course, are just fashion. But maybe our fanciers do not want to be either this or that—let us, for this story, keep them in a kaleidoscope of clothes, such that on one glance they are dressed in tailored autumnal browns favoured by Kpop stars and in the other, stolen props from a Pirates of the Caribbean set. It does not matter, they are here for bigger things.

Kyungsoo greets them with a bow before the other three follow his cue, masks on and pulled tight. “Hello, as you know, I am Doh Kyungsoo, the head of the Ministry of Environment. This is Byun Baekhyun, the Minister of National Defence, as you may know.” Two of the three fanciers smile in recognition before bowing again. “And these two are Park Chanyeol-ssi and Kim Jongin-ssi of the Ministry of Science and ICT. We are the team conducting the mission here.” The fanciers greet both Jongin and Chanyeol with smiles before the tallest of the three introduces himself. “Honoured to meet you all. I am Zhang Yixing. I run a pet store in Seoul.” The man next to him witha shorter stature, a brighter smile and curved lips continued. “Hello, I am Kim Jongdae and this is my brother Seungkwan. We come from a family of pigeon fanciers and racers from Jeju, although it’s just us two now.” Jongdae’s brother bowed again, seemingly embarrassed, but was quick to smile it off and state that they felt very honoured to help them.

The party had soon moved to the hotel’s now-empty dining room. A long table had been placed at the centre with six files on each side, one placed at the head. Kyungsoo presided over the briefing with the rest in tow, going over basic details first. “The spotters we had placed over the past week marked this area as common to pigeon trails for the ones coming from the city, since this area is just on the outskirts. As you know, a Nation Advisory as well as local warning guidelines have been directed in each major city against pigeon feeding and coming in contact with pigeons. Since most people are home, the birds are more likely to frequent outer areas to forage for food. I already instructed the hotel staff and neighbours to leave some food out in the morning before they vacated the area. We will have to start by periodically planting feed in the open land. Once birds start frequenting the area, Yixing and Jongdae can take over.”

Yixing and Jongdae seemed to have formulated a game-plan on their journey together. It was Seungkwan who elaborated. “Yes, the birds need to be familiar with your faces first before we start any bonding process. We will have to frequent the park area and ensure if a bird comes to us, it is fed. We can set up day-camps.” Jongin’s smile seemed to get bigger at the mention of camps. “Can we play football?”

Seungkwan looked at him pointedly, as if judging, before nodding along. “Yes, football. The Korean past-time. Anyway, moving on, it will take at least a week to find a considerable number of birds in the area. Once the pigeons have started frequenting, some might come to you by themselves. If they don’t then don’t be offended, pigeons are easy companions but cleverer than you think, and will probably be taking some time to judge the situation at hand. If a bird does seem to take fancy to you then consider yourself lucky and let us know as soon as you possibly can. They will start roosting in the pods once they find that this area has enough food—which we shall be giving them often. Remember, do not be afraid of the birds—they do not understand fear. Do not be too fidgety or easily surprised. No loud noises or sudden movements. When you are in the field, please keep yourself very relaxed,” at this, Seungkwan stared at Jongin, as if expecting him to mess up right that minute. Jongin raised an eyebrow and hummed, shifting his attention to Kyungsoo who was speaking now.

“Unless we or the appointed guards find any nests, we are likely to spot pigeons only between noon and sunset in this weather, when there is maximum light. That will be our time for frequenting the park. Jongdae-ssi has informed me that the best time to place a tracker on the birds is after the bird starts trusting you, so let us dedicate this week to the bonding and attracting pigeons towards hatching pods. Following this, we will focus on tracking and redirection next week, and transmission numbers the week after. Remember, gentlemen, that our fanciers here will only be able to join us next week when their second vaccine dose takes effect. Since we do not have any more vaccinations to spare, I would advise you three to stay safe and out of carrier contact until the week passes. If our men have any questions, they will contact you via cellphones.”

“Won’t cellphones disturb the birds?” Jongin asked, frowning in worry.

“These are city birds, Jongin.”

**_Dancing with Myself- The Donnas_ **

“You are so stupid.”

Yes, Baekhyun, whose head was held in his hands as he regaled the events of his day to Minseok, knew that very well. But his best friend and almost-brother and Department Chair and the only person he would be found video calling at 12 in the night besides Junmyeon hyung—did not need to reiterate that. What is going to call him stupid do, undo his afternoon mistake and wipe from Park Chanyeol’s memory the fact that his enemy had seen him half-naked? Or better yet, wipe from Baekhyun’s memory all existence of Park Chanyeol so that he would never have to relive this embarrassment again?

Baekhyun smashed his face into his pillow again, one eye peeking at Minseok amidst the fluffy bedding. “Please shut up.”

Minseok, who was too used to Baekhyun’s dramatics, only laughed. “Shut up? Why? Why should I not tell you how stupid you were, and how awful you are at impressing you crush? You even slept in the car! Have you heard your snores Byun Baek?”

Baekhyun, despite being a man of thirty-four with all the dignity required of a country’s Minister of Defence contained in him, kicked his legs like a petulant schoolboy of twelve. “Stop it Hyung!”

Minseok continued laughing, enjoying teasing the otherwise stoic man. Like this, in a loose black tee with his hair and face fresh from a shower, Baekhyun was the picture of the young, determined pilot he had roomed with in their training days. “Yah, stop sulking. If you want to change that scientist’s opinion of you you’ll have to try harder. It’s clear he does not like you so far.”

“I know that Hyung. I just don’t know why. For as long as I have known him he has disliked me, acting like every word out of my mouth is a suggestion toward’s his puppy’s murder--“

“And you, innocent of all innocents, don’t feed into that? You’re telling me you’ve never tried to get a rise out of him?”

“We’re just different people Hyung. It is not my fault if I state the obvious. Tell me, would you not have thought of killing the bloody birds off if it was needed? Can we afford any more deaths?”

“Byun Baek.” Minseok sighed. The wine glass next to him had been emptied of its contents. Anyone but Minseok would have had their face planted on the floor with that much alcohol in their system by now, but the man was wide awake, sitting by what seemed to be a table in his suite, his cellphone seemingly propped against the wine bottle from Baekhyun’s angle, as he would move the phone often to pour himself some more. “You need to figure your feelings for Park out before you try to figure Park’s feelings for you, I don’t need to tell you that right?”

Baekhyun nodded solemnly.

“Let’s catch some birds tomorrow Hyung. You must tell me if someone catches your fancy in Daegu.”

At that, Minseok laughed before the call was cut with mumbled goodnights. Baekhyun left all the figuring out to the next day.

—

**_Don’t Let Me Go- SHINee_ **

The first day of any mission, project, task, etc. starts with diligence, Jongin is as much aware of that unwritten rule as he is flagrant of it. After all, their mission is no unique combat that Byun Baekhyun would excel in, or some hackathon catering to Chanyeol-hyung’s extra-competitive nature. No, this mission, for all its gravitas was, of all things, _cottagecore._

Could anyone blame him for trying his chance at spending some time with his crush?

Their day had started early, because it would seem unfit for the Ministry of Environment and Ministry of Defence folk to know that Chanyeol and Jongin were late risers. “What if that Byun spreads word around that we’re slackers Jongin?” Chanyeol had ranted while trying to wake him up. “I am not going to look tardy because of you. Get the fuck up.” The order had been followed by insistent nudges until Jongin had belatedly rolled out of bed straight into his en-suite, just to ensure Chanyeol would stop talking. He had managed to shower and be at the breakfast table just around the time their food was being served, Chanyeol and Baekhyun bringing the food in as an apron-clad Kyungsoo entered. Jongin almost melted at the sight—could this man get any cuter?

The question was not rhetorical after all, for Kyungsoo proceeded to sit at the table in his apron and scoop a generous serving of rice with his egg rolls, calmly stuffing a spoonful that went straight to his cheeks. Jongin sighed, the gods were testing him.

“Just as delicious as expected, Kyungsoo,” Byun spoke through a mouthful. “You’ve gotten better with time.”

Chanyeol-hyung hummed, agreeing for once. It was clear Chanyeol hyung knew both Baekhyun and Kyungsoo from before, but when Jongin had begged Chanyeol to set him up with Kyungsoo he had pointedly refused, much to Jongin’s displeasure. “If Kyungsoo wants to date you, that should be his decision. I do not want to meddle like this Jonginnie.”

Not having any guidance when one wants to impress a man as stone-like as Kyungsoo was difficult, of course, but Jongin was nothing if not determined. It just came to him naturally, the desire to spend time with Kyungsoo, to know him more, to uncover each layer behind his passivity, to see him laugh or smile at him the way he smiled at Minister Byun. “Like an onion,” Jongin couldn’t help but mutter as he saw Kyungsoo smile at Baekhyun’s antics—the latter was exclaiming how he could kiss Kyungsoo’s hands for feeding him egg rolls better than the ones he had even had in Japan. “Huh? Do you want something Jongin?” The onion-like man was now looking at him with eyes also as big as onions. “I... was just wondering how we are going to divide tasks today. There’s planting to be done, right? We will cover more ground if we divide in teams...”

Baekhyun hummed in agreement. “You’re right, Jongin. How do you think we should divide ourselves? All four of us will be carrying feed right?”

“Hmm, we will. I think it will be better to divide according to who is more adept at gardening. I, for example, am really bad compared to Chanyeol hyung who is average at it. It would be much better for me to be with someone who can give me clear instructions, like Kyungsoo-hyung.”

Said man nodded in agreement, not noticing the flinching of the two in front of him. Neither could express desire for a change of teams without clearly stating the reason why, not so early anyway. While Chanyeol seemed to be searching his mind for an excuse, Baekhyun sat up straighter on the announcement, probably gearing himself up for a long day. Jongin, of course, was nothing but overjoyed at seeing his plan work, happily sprinkling some caramelised onions on his plate to go with the egg rolls and rice.

—

One would assume someone as seemingly perfect as Byun Baekhyun would be good at everything. His performance in the Air Force training had always been exceptional. He was never out of shape. His clothes were always ironed to the last wrinkle and did not feature a speck of dust on them. He had been exceptionally good at futsal during training, and seemed to break a sweat only in spots that were not visible to Chanyeol because he was yet to see a drop on that godawful skin. Too smooth. Too strong a contrast with those broad muscles. Why was this man so contradictory?

He would say one thing, but completely do another. For example, when Kyungsoo had instructed each of them on the tasks that _had to_ be completed today—that is, planting as many saplings and plants as they could after de-potting them, into their field—Byun had clearly stated that the task did not sound too difficult. Why was the man panting now, then, running to get more plants the minute Chanyeol was done with digging up and planting one? And why did Chanyeol have to witness it, especially with how the white shirt just fitting across his chest seemed to only squeeze his broadness in with every run back to the parked truck?

“Byun-ssi,” Chanyeol stated as the man stood bent over, breathing hard. “You can go slower. I will bring the next few plants, just plant these two here.”

Chanyeol was no tyrant. He was here on a mission and missions required cooperation, patience, and sometimes fraternising with the enemy, all of which he was very capable of doing, thank you very much. One look at Byun’s surprised face, however, and Chanyeol himself thought he was Hitler reincarnate. The man looked at Chanyeol like he had grown two heads. “Uhh, are you sure? This is fine for me, really. Besides, I’m not very good at gardening...”

“I’m sure you won’t manage to kill two plants in the span of five minutes, unless you’re that incompetent. Besides, I could use the walk. You’re not the only fit one here.”

Chanyeol turned around and started speed-walking the minute he realised he had accidentally called Baekhyun fit of all people. Whatever, it wasn’t technically a compliment, just fact. Chanyeol knew he could lift more plants in one run anyway. Which he totally did, and brought four back from his walk. Time was of essence here as the sooner the plants were planted, the sooner birds would frequent the field, and the more of them could then be directed to hatching pods and particular trails accordingly. They still had a long way to go for their assigned patch, and Jongin and Kyungsoo did not seem to be faring any better either. But Chanyeol knew that if they averaged a decent amount per hour they would be done soon, perhaps some overnight work might help, and even a small attractive area that resembled a field was better than no cover at all. Therefore, he quickened his speed and made his way over to his teammate for today. When he was close enough, Chanyeol called out Byun’s name, as the man was too busy patting around the plant he had just placed to ensure it was buried properly. When Byun looked up, one eye shut under direct sunlight, a silver tag that has escaped the white tee dangling from his neck around the plant, his brown hair in disarray but only complimenting a tiny mole above his lip, Chanyeol felt a shiver pass through him as the light hit his eyes.

Sometimes, you see,we cannot control the growth of a weed even in the driest patch. Water can wash over the toughest stones and enter the most impenetrable lands. Even when we walk on dry earth, water flows underneath us, in us. Who is to say the curious interaction of starlight with the cosmic dust that is us does not beget flowers? Who would believe daises sprung from the field the next day?

And yet, Kyungsoo walked into ‘work’ to find Jongin trying to bite into a bouquet, laughing at him, with him. “Hyung, did you bring the feed? The birds are going to arrive soon!”

Kyungsoo nodded, passing the last bag to him. The other two had been given to Baekhyun and Chanyeol, who were off on their respective ends of the field. They had to spread around today, ensure no birds missed them—although, four random men in an open field full of daises were hard to miss, especially with Kyungsoo and Chanyeol wearing black, head-to-toe. “Oh, are you hoping the city birds will feel like you just walked out of a convenience store and attack you?” Baekhyun had asked them, the grin on his face too big. This is what a full night’s sleep did to the man.

Chanyeol had rolled his eyes before picking his bag of feed and his toolbox up. The man had self-appointed himself to set up a bird bath and some bird houses after speaking to Yixing the other day. Kyungsoo was aggravated this did not strike him, but he had to remind himself he was an environmentalist and not an ornithologist, or a pet parent, for that matter. Although the latter status might change if Jongin kept clinging to him like a puppy, or a bear.

Normally, Kyungsoo would have felt uncomfortable by the attention on him, and verily, when Jongin tried to turn their work into a picnic, he did. But that was also because Kyungsoo was the kind of worker who did not like taking breaks, preferring to end the entire task in one go and then relaxing. It just felt like he was doing things less half-heartedly that way. Jongin, however, seemed to be doing flawless ballet on a tightrope in how well he managed time. He had planted the highest number of saplings yesterday, and had also taken the most number of breaks. Even today, between feeding the errant bird that spotted their patch, he was often taking breaks to tease Chanyeol about the bird bath he was trying to set up while simultaneously helping him. The ceramic dishes Chanyeol had ordered had arrived this morning—sometimes it helped being the head of a country’s science and research department. He was now making a structure out of some stumps and the pots that were left after yesterday’s de/re-planting. Baekhyun was somewhere around, getting closer to Chanyeol’s bird bath and him with every round he took of his part of the field. Since Chanyeol’s bath-building was happening closer to the hatching pods, Kyungsoo decided to go check on that area first.

Jongin greeted him first. “Kyungsoo-hyung, we were just discussing about having a campfire one of these days. Chanyeol-hyung said he could collect some logs and save some of the leftovers. Do you think that’s a good idea? Can we do it?”

Kyungsoo hummed, his heart not ready to reject the boy in front of him. Truly, Jongin was far too excited for an environmental mission. But who was Kyungsoo, dry as sand, to judge? “Chanyeol hyung told me you all knew each other during military, and that you wanted to become a farmer Hyung! Did you really? How did you end up here then?”

Kyungsoo was stunned, a little at how easily Chanyeol had remembered and divulged his childhood dream to this boy, but mostly at how Jongin seemed to express a kind of empathy at him not being able to see his dream through. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to assuage the boy’s visibly increasing sympathy. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice, no? I had to do what I am doing.”

“Doesn’t that mean you had a choice, Kyungsoo? A hard one, but one nevertheless.” Chanyeol was talking to him, but not about him. Kyungsoo could see Baekhyun giving up on the pretence of staying away and walking towards them. He hummed. “In a corner, all directions point away. Hardly any roads diverging into woods there.”

Chanyeol turned away from Baekhyun’s approaching figure, focusing his attention on cleaning the dish in front of him. The stumps had been made into a serviceable resting structure for the bath dish. Pigeons would be dipping their claws—toes—there soon. “Even a cactus in the desert blooms flowers.”

“I know that, Chanyeol. _Do you?_ ”

Kyungsoo did not expect Chanyeol to answer. Waving Jongin over, he signalled the boy to accompany him to the hatching pods. Squabs were easier to hatch than squabbles.

—

“Jongin seems really excited at the idea of a camp fire,” Baekhyun started, cautiously edging closer to where Chanyeol was working. “Was it you who suggested it?”

Chanyeol grunted. “That boy just wants an excuse to chat Kyungsoo up.”

“It’s not the worst way. You remember how much he used to enjoy sneaking out of the dorms? He used to smile so much more then.” Chanyeol nodded along, his attention still on the dish he was cleaning. Taking a deep breath, Baekhyun found some courage to utter his next words. “You used to too.... smile more, that is.”

His head was hung low, but Baekhyun knew Chanyeol was now looking at him, and doing it furiously. He seemed to not deem that statement worthy of an answer. A beat passed, and Chanyeol was back to his dish.

Baekhyun nodded to himself, accepting the silence, picking up some of the logs left over from Chanyeol’s handiwork, and pulling some tools out of the toolbox. Slowly, he laid out each piece of wood in front of him until he could picture the design in his mind. This was not his task for the day, but birds had rarely visited today, just a few coming over to pluck at the daisies and eat some of the feed that Baekhyun had managed to scatter around. One, however, was sitting still near Baekhyun right now, observing him as he observed the scientist while doing his task. Chanyeol did not bother to look up, displeasure rolling off him in waves. But Baekhyun was a patient man. He could build a bird-house.

**_In Quiet Rooms- Omn_ **

Each bird species has its own style of flight. No airplanes that Baekhyun enjoyed flying so much taking off at a 45 degree angle or something here. Some birds take off at 75, some like to run and not fly at all. Pigeons are stunningly unique. The human eye may not be able to capture a bird mid-flight but clever humans have invented clever devices to slow time down, to focus, to observe. A pigeon actually launches itself upwards at a 90 degree angle, catapulting itself into troublesome air instead of cautiously approaching murky skies. The upward jump can go as high as 20 metres with the pigeon’s acceleration—so much fierceness is packed in that small body. And yet.

And yet, despite all his afternoon bravado, Baekhyun steered clear of Chanyeol for the next two days. Chanyeol noticed, but could not find it in himself to care. He was happy in the lack of the man’s presence, able to push thoughts of him aside. What was there to think of, anyway? He did not like Baekhyun, that was all. All he reminded himself of daily when he woke up and saw the man at breakfast daily; when he tasted the bokkumbap he had whipped up for dinner with Kyungsoo’s help, and noticed how eager the minister had been to see whether Chanyeol liked it; when he saw Baekhyun bring more and more logs and pieces of stray woods and hay to place in the hatching pods, stating that it might make the birds feel like they are nesting; when he saw Baekhyun smile brilliantly at him as a pigeon happily picked at feed from his outstretched arm; even when he noticed the ancient half-sweaters the man would wear and discard in the field in the afternoon—really, was his fashion range always fluctuating between college professor and hot pilot? Could he wear a simple ratty adidas shirt for once?

Even today, as Jongin waved a stick around to direct the handful pigeons that managed to visit their field to the hatching lofts, failing often, Chanyeol made a pointed effort to not notice and not-like the pilot making his way towards him. Only, when Baekhyun, for the first time in days, made the effort of speaking to him, Chanyeol could find no reason to ignore. Not yet anyway.

“Pleasant day, isn’t it?”

Chanyeol chuckled at Byun’s awkwardness. So much for a man whose coherence was responsible for the peace in their nation. “Hmmm,” he replied, not giving him an inch of respite. He could see the wheels turning in the man’s head on his face. “We certainly have more birds than we did earlier. Do you.... does Chanyeol-ssi think there might be more in the coming days? I hope there are enough by the time the fanciers can join us.”

“Kyungsoo would be able to predict numbers better. This is outside of my data science expertise.”

“Have a little faith,” Baekhyun urged, retracting at Chanyeol’s glare. “I mean... we... you’ve put in so much effort. I really hope it doesn’t go to waste.”

Chanyeol wiped his hands clean after changing the water in his bird bath. He had read somewhere that the warmer the water the more comfortable it is for the birds, and South Korea wasn’t exactly a tropical beach vacation, even for migratory birds. “We cannot afford it going to waste. We’ve already lost...so much.” His eyes were downcast, looking at the clear water. The sky overhead offered him no reflection. “Sehun tells me him and Junmyeon are getting along splendidly. ‘Like two rabbits on cocaine,’ he said. Did Junmyeon hyung say something to you?”

It took a while for Baekhyun to compute Chanyeol was trying to make small-talk, looking surprised when did. Chanyeol shrugged and looked at Baekhyun as if he was expecting an answer. At least his attempt had been better than the minister’s. Really, Baekhyun would have been better off talking about the weather. Once the otherwise fast pilot’s slow brain had finished its computation, however, he was quick to to stutter out replies. “Oh, yes. They seem to have good feelings for each other.”

Chanyeol snorted. “You sound like an entertainment company describing an idol couple, Byun-ssi,” he taunted before taking off towards Kyungsoo, who was feeding a few doves that had found their way into this pigeon camp, much like unwanted feelings, thoughts better left un-thought; trespassers, the lot.

“Wait. Chanyeol-ssi, you follow Dispatch?!”

**_Dramarama- Monsta X_ **

The direction stick had actually been Seungkwan’s idea, who video called Jongin to ask about his progress on a daily basis. His phone would ring without fail an hour after dinner every night, just while Jongin would be getting ready to retire for bed. The first time it happened, Jongin was surprised at the boy calling him in all seriousness to deliver more instructions. “Kim-ssi, does the bird feed have peas? You have to ensure some peas have been mashed into the feed.” It seemed like the boy would not have been able to sleep until Jongin had calmed him down, so he did, telling him Kyungsoo hyung had had his best people figure the recipe out. “And call me hyung, Seungkwan-ah. Kim-ssi feels so weird.”

Seungkwan had softened, marginally. “Right. And did Chanyeol-ssi make the bird bath?”

“He ordered his stuff. We’ll get started on it tomorrow.”

“That’s good, Hyung,” he hummed. “You must know that pigeons are clever beings. They cannot be manipulated easily.”

Seungkwan’s owlish eyes and worried countenance was so pigeon-like Jongin almost did a double take. He somehow knew this call meant more to the boy than he could let on. For that reason, the next day, the day after, and even today, when he had wanted to savour the few moments of quiet he had gotten and focus his thoughts on the way Kyungsoo hyung’s ass looked in the hideous all-black outfit he favoured daily, Jongin had patiently put his desires behind to deliver the anxious Seungkwan some peace.

“Yes, Seungkwan,” Jongin started as he accepted the call. “I used the stick just as you instructed. And it worked a little but not very well. Maybe it will be easier when more pigeons are around, then they can follow a leader or something.”

“These are pigeons, not bees Hyung. Did you tie some feed to the tip?”

“Of course,” Jongin answered in irritation. “Baekhyun hyung even made a bird-house. We’re trying our best. Those pests are just too smart for us.”

Seungkwan nodded. “The pigeons are just clever. You will have to try harder.

“Trying we are. Sometimes I think it would have been much easier to manage extermination. Just mix some stuff in the feed and we would have been through. I guess that should be the backup in case this doesn’t work out.”

Seungkwan’s face was ashen, even on a mobile screen. “You can’t possibly mean that!”

Jongin bristled. “O-of course I don’t! And it’s not feasible anyway! If even traces of any extermination material enters the water table then we’re done for, even I know that. I’m just tired, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan seemed to sympathise. “Hyung, pigeons….they are not…that is, just give them a chance....”

Jongin snorted. “You’re serious? They’re currently the most dangerous species in this country!”

“And?! Let he who is without sin throw the first stone then!” Seungkwan’s shoulders had squared in defiance. “Or better yet, wave the stick.” His face was flushed red. “You have to stay with the trouble.”

Jongin was too tired for the discussion, as one in his position was wont to be. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.” He cut the call after a mumbled good night floated across his room.

Tomorrow, he would find the open field inundated with aforementioned pests, flying in formation as if an avian army was ready to invade this patch of land, as if all the pigeons in the country, the world over, could only find solace amidst the daisies he had planted. Tomorrow, when Jongin would wave a stick as long as himself in the air, pigeons would dance in the sky around it as if hypnotised, covering the overhead sky like patches on a crochet lace, sunlight peeking through to drop on Jongin’s honey-skin like he was under a net. But that was all tomorrow, and Jongin, exhausted Jongin, wanted to sleep to the thoughts of a farmer today.

—

Baekhyun struggled in directing pigeons to hatching pods.

Unlike Kyungsoo, he bore no green thumb or magical chef fingers, he could not pretend the earth was his element. He also did not share Jongin’s enthusiasm, or speed, for that matter, and could not pick up tasks as quickly as the boy had. His lack of affinity to “furry friends” also pinched at him, especially when he noticed stray dogs in the compound often walking up to Chanyeol, and the man laughingly indulging them in games of fetch. Chanyeol seemed to be a different person around animals, reserving for them all the warmth and patience he had probably deprived Baekhyun of all these years. What did a bloody corgi have that he did not?

For starters, one must reiterate, any ability to direct pigeons to hatching pods, which even the corgi had found ways of doing as he skipped between the pod and the bath where pigeons washed themselves. They were not afraid of Mongryong, named so by Chanyeol. How the corgi had found its way there was beyond Baekhyun, but who was he to question it when he himself felt perplexed by how he had landed where he was now. He was a pilot, a military man, his country’s goddamned minister of defence—and here he was, in overalls and gloves given to him by Kyungsoo, cleaning hatching pods of bird poop. No ROKAF training could ever prepare a soldier for what he was doing right now. Perhaps a new mandatory training curriculum was in order, just so other recruits could share his misery. He was comforted by the fact that both Minseok and Junmyeon might also be cleaning pigeon poop now, but even the thought of Junmyeon’s obsessionally clean persona having to sniff the pleasing scent of pigeon excreta could not amuse him.

He was jealous, damn it!

It just, did not—and Baekhyun had calculated it, very mathematically, since he had always been good at maths—seem fair, or perhaps mathematically fair, all things considered and calculations made, that Mongryong got nothing but good favour from his enemy while he was left here unable to string two sentences in front of Chanyeol without the scientist incinerating him with his eyes. Even now, while Baekhyun tried to scrape the last of excreta from the loft and settle the nests in place, he could hear Chanyeol cooing at the dog over his shoulder.

“Mongmonggie, did you lose the frisbee? Where will we find a new one, you devil,” Chanyeol was chuckling as he scratched the puppy’s chin. Soon, the puppy was lying flat on his back, his round belly displayed as his limbs lay spread like he was some snow angel, demanding rubs, ignoring the backup frisbee Chanyeol had pulled from his back pocket. Poop angel, more like.

“It seems that the US election might happen soon,” Baekhyun stated to no one. Yet, they were all men of politics in that field. Busy luring pigeons into mating lofts, but bigger countries have stood on humbler tasks, if you ask him; you cannot take the polis out of the politēs.

“Hmm, does not look like President Trump will have another run,” Kyungsoo spoke from his work bench, where he was busy feeding pigeons.

Jongin hummed in agreement. “Biden-ssi does have more promising press, but I would not underestimate President Trump’s following. Right, hyung?” Jongin asked Chanyeol. The man nodded without looking up from his play-spot. “One can only hope they can come to their senses. That man offers nothing but rot.”

Baekhyun felt compelled to say something. “We’ll have to work with them even if they don’t. At least the Trump administration was forthcoming with military improvisation since the Treaty.”

All three of the men around him must have paused, but Baekhyun turned around only when he felt Chanyeol’s eyes on him. “What?” he enquired, confused.

Chanyeol was staring at him with his usual intensity, except the anger his eyes _and him_ was so intense that even Mongryong stepped aside, walking over to where Jongin was now tying feed to the end of his stick with pointed focus. “What?” Baekhyun asked again, feeling something settle in the pits of his stomach.

“You never change, do you?” Chanyeol asked.

Baekhyun spluttered, the only response he could find fitting of a reply coming out in unfamiliar English. “Pardon?”

“What military improvisation has America so kindly given that we must praise Trump for it?”

“I’m not praising the man, Park-ssi, but surely this is something I can admire the country for?”

“Byun-ssi, what is there to admire about more money being put into arms and guns? If anything, they have been derailing us from the Treaty since Day 1.”

Kyungsoo and Jongin had made themselves scarce, Baekhyun knew this because he noticed there was no one he could rely on for answers. He did not care, he had not headed armistice treaties on mere reliance. “If you must be reminded, it was with their involvement and support that we could manage the Panmunjom treaty in the first place. Do you think the North would have laid down their weapons if we had simply asked nice—”

“I am saying it does not matter if their involvement initialised the Treaty. I am saying their ‘involvement’ in both providing and demanding more weapons—weapons that your people constantly request my people to make, help with—is not going to give us the results we seek from this Treaty. The North continues to see us as the enemy—”

“ _My people_ are the ones at the DMZ keeping this country safe right—“

“Safe?” Chanyeol’s boomed, scoffing. “Safe from _what_ when they themselves are not safe? Is the only way to keep us safe giving _your_ people more guns? Do you want to commission a bloody moat for the peninsula in the next budget, have President Trump pay for it with his Towers? Come off it Byun!” Chanyeol yelled, throwing the frisbee across the field. Turning around, he made to leave the spot immediately—pulling at his hair in frustration? Baekhyun did not know, but he knew he could not let this infuriating man run off just like that.

Baekhyun could feel the blood rushing in his ears, different nerves ticking across different parts of his body, like his whole being was on fire. He tried to breathe even, knowing it was only because of Park fucking Chanyeol that he was unable to maintain his cool, whatever semblance of congeniality he had ever had. Anytime, Minseok should have appeared to communicate between the two, bringing with himself the refreshing coolness he seemed to bear that made both him and Park calmer, more human, less...feral animals, or whatever they both were, whatever Chanyeol made him feel. But no, Minseok would not be coming all the way from Daegu for this. This Chanyeol he’d have to handle himself. He pulled at the man’s hand as he turned around to leave, feeling Chanyeol’s hot palm underneath his.

The scientist made no move to face him. He only pulled his arm back, but Baekhyun was strong, stronger; he would have to be. He breathed deeply, his voice coming out colder than the mountains in Siberia. “You don’t know what you speak of, Park Chanyeol. You would have me ignore _war._ “

Chanyeol pulled his arm back harder this time, making Baekhyun stumble as he lost his grip. “No, Baekhyun. I would have you acknowledge it.”

**_Born Hater- Epik High_ **

Today was a new day. Or so Seungkwan would like to believe. In his line of work, no days were new and yet no days were old, or ever the same. He no longer shuddered at the cacophony of wings. His hyung, of course, had never seemed to mind it, growing into their family trade from the minute they were introduced to the family lofts, where their father had introduced them to the rarest of pigeon species that had somehow lost their way and made it to the rocky shores of Jeju to find a comfortable home. “These are travellers,” he had told them, “not pests. Nor pets. Alright?”

To Jongdae’s ten and Seungkwan’s six year old minds, it did not occur to cross-question their father, and they had vigorously nodded in response. Seungkwan thought his hyung would be able to clear all confusion later, but Jongdae had only kindly smiled at him when Seungkwan had pouted at him from across the room on his bed that night, asking what their father could possibly have meant. “I don’t know the slightest, Seungkwan-ah.”

“What does that mean? How can you not know hyung?”

“Go to sleep,” Jongdae had stated, already halfway into deep sleep. Seungkwan had accepted he belonged to a family of loonies that day.

It was only as he grew older and found few answers to his many questions that Seungkwan accepted some things were better experienced that solved in or through language. Pigeons could only hoot, couldn’t they, and yet they taught him valuable life lessons. On survival, on patience, assimilation, trouble, weirdness, being seen as different, pest-like. They were rats that flew. And yet, Seungkwan knew that rats could bring entire nations to their feet. Theirs was a strange trade, for it seemed that his pigeons gave him much more in return for the handful peas he mashed into their breakfast each morning. Oh well. Old thoughts, new day.

Seungkwan was happy to finally be out of his quarantine week, for he had spent most of it pacing in his room, often peeking out the window to check whether those government men were doing the job right, if any pigeons had actually made it to the field, if the plants were growing well, whether Jongin hyung had finally managed to take Kyungsoo-ssi on a picnic date at sunrise, like he had planned (and told Seungkwan about, on one of their video calls when he was feeling extra chatty)—he hadn’t, by the way, because he woke up late every single day and could barely make it to breakfast. Seungkwan knew because he could hear the man speeding across the halls. Only today was the day he finally got to leave his room and, if possible snap the man over his head for being so stupid and singularly focused on making romance out of a pandemic. Sure, he was very efficient in whatever he did—truthfully nobody in their group had been able to direct pigeons with a stick better than him, but was this the right time to make googly eyes at Kyungsoo-ssi as the oblivious man buttered his toast? Really...

Seungkwan was about to throw a carrot at Jongin hyung when a tap on his shoulder distracted him. He furiously turned around, startled, only to see a tall boy smiling down at his spot at the dining table. Ah, yes, one of the crew members who were supposed to arrive with the trackers today, since their quarantine was also over. What was this boy’s name? Minho?

Minho was standing with gigantic serving trays on both his arms, speaking too fast for his words to be considered coherent speech. “What?” Seungkwan enquired. “The toast. Can you put some on these plates? I’m famished!”

Jongdae hyung, with his mouth full and munching on the kimchi Minister Byun had brought, dropped some toasts on the plates before Seungkwan could bring his muscles to move, and Minho was off in front of his eyes, his tall legs barely taking two steps to reach the end of the table. A short girl with striking bob hair was sitting next to the seat he was occupying.

“Yixing-ssi,” Minister Byun enquired. “Do you think it’s time we put the trackers on the pigeons? A sufficient number of them nest in the hatching pods now.”

Yixing-ssi seemed to consider this for a while before answering. “Have they laid any eggs?” he asked back.

“None so far.”

Yixing-ssi nodded. “Then, it would be best to wait. Maybe we can give it a day or two, if the pigeons still don’t lay eggs we will place the trackers. But it would be much less risky to place it on complacent birds.”

There were some hums of agreement and acceptance on the table. Yixing continued. “Until then, would it be possible for us to see the trackers? I want to know what they look like, how much they weigh. We usually use rings.” The question was directed at Park Chanyeol, who readily agreed. “Mingyu and Ryujin will show them to you; Mingyu was one of the people who designed it. The other, Chaeyoung, she is with the team in Gwangju, but I am sure these two will handle everything here,” he smiled before continuing. “They were made to be as weightless as the rings you use. The ones meant for bonded birds are a little heavier, but the others work as rings, except they light up when in the range of a remote they designed. That way, we can tell the birds coming our way apart, and predict the direction of their travel to some degree, at least in favourable light.”

Seungkwan was impressed at the dexterity, the tracker seemed to take into consideration both light pollution and any discomfort that may arise from the rings. Perhaps he could ask this Mingyu to help him sneak some home. That remote would be his salvation!

Said benefactor of salvation was currently stuffing his face with a full toast, no bites taken. Very well, Seungkwan thought primly, one needs enough food for all that height.

—

They had divided in teams again, this time to learn bonding activities from the fanciers. Him, Jongdae hyung and Yixing-ssi, that is, and Seungkwan had been assigned to Kyungsoo-ssi and Jongin hyung, much to his surprise, for he had expected to be paired up with the youngest lot. Hoped too, because he was seriously eyeing those trackers.

“I requested it!” Jongin hyung told him gleefully in the field-cum-workspace after everyone had separated. Kyungsoo was checking on the pods, while Jongdae hyung was teaching a stiff Ryujin and Mingyu how to sing to birds in the middle of the field, Yixing-ssi and his charges taking over their bird-bath duty. “I think we’ll work together well, Seungkwan-ah! You’re just as focused as Kyungsoo-hyung. Did you know he wanted to be a farmer? It’s so fascinating. I was hoping to take him on the picnic, but now I’m thinking maybe a harvesting date might be better, and more productive too, since these flowers are growing too wildly. Too many weeds in the ground. What do you think?”

Jongin hyung was usually the quiet type, but Seungkwan had understood that this was only a front, the man chatting a mile a minute once he opened up. He could find appreciation in the familiarity, as it felt like having another brother, one able to bridge the yawning gap between him and his own. “Where’s your stick?” he enquired the man, somehow amused at the thought that he was speaking to the man who headed communication tech in his country. A fitting occupation.

“Here,” Kyungsoo passed the stick along, handing gloves to both Jongin and him. “Shall we start?” he asked Seungkwan directly, staring at him with owlish eyes that seemed to pop open.

Seungkwan noted, then, that both men were expecting him to conduct the exercise like a lesson. “Right,” he started. “Bonding is an act of patience. Please understand there is no step-by-step here where you’ll end up with a companion,” Jongin nodded along, “but if you can get the bird to trust you it’s easier to direct them in comfortable spaces. It doesn’t matter if you aim for the male or the female, because once they find a comfortable space they’ll nest there themselves.”

“And when will they nest? Or how...?”

“Once they choose a mate. Do you know about the mating process?” The answer was evident on Jongin’s face, but Seungkwan was surprised to see Kyungsoo nod at him. “The male brings a twig as an offering to the female, right? Keeping it at her feet. If she accepts she will sit and nest there. If not, she will leave.”

“Yes, although the process may vary for breeds, but since we are expecting city pigeons, this is usually how it happens. Anyway, we are the real estate agents here. And what do the agents have to do? Make the couple believe this home is the one for them. _Good bones,_ right? So act like a patient real estate agent. Do not be too persuasive, it’s the quickest way to arouse distrust and apprehension. On that note, do not be too quick either. No fast movements or loud noises, no surprises—you are already aware. Even for petting, let the bird come to you; you can hold out your hand with some feed, put the gloves on. Jongin hyung, they enjoy the stick, so do that once the birds have been fed properly. It will also tire them out and bring them back to the feeders, so we’ll have more chances of them spotting the pods.”

The three started on their tasks as Seungkwan finished off, Jongin walking to the centre of the field with his stick while Kyungsoo put his gloves on and placed some feed on his upturned palm, attracting all the birds in his vicinity. Once the pigeons had comfortably perched themselves, he slowly started walking towards the hatching pods, sitting at the bench nearby as the birds pecked at the feed. Seungkwan took a mental note to ask the man later about the possibility of finding small worms for the birds to feed on, letting him be for now. He seemed at peace anyway.

—

The pigeon’s mating ceremony is one of its fonder, more liked memories in history. We all know the mating dance, might have seen it, on National Geographic with special commentary, or in our backyards, or on top the window-ACs pigeons usually nest on, where a haughty male of the species stands tall and proud in front of a demure female, who is always looking down, and offers her his love and devotion in a twig. An enthusiastic female might gingerly sit on the twig in acceptance of the mating call, or ignore it altogether should another, one taller and feistier like an eagle, or quicker on his wings and wittier with his beak like a parrot, catch her fancy (or maybe she is simply not in the mood for commitment, we can speculate). Regardless of the end of these engagements, pigeon-trainers have learned how to distinguish pigeon sexes from these behaviours. Whether the haughty and demure are so because of their sexes, or whether their sexes become haughty and demure because of their behaviour, is a question beyond the scope of our story here. What is of more interest is who stands tall and who sits in grace in the end, for our two government officials were not giving each other an inch.

Baekhyun was furiously swiping the hatching pods clean. The smell of bird poop no longer bothered him, and even if it did, he would prefer cleaning it to being around Park Chanyeol anymore than he had to anyway. He did not think they could ever have a straight conversation again, it seemed too unlikely, unwanted, even.

It was not that Baekhyun would not be able to maintain his calm. He was calm. He was the picture of peace. He was responsible for peacekeeping in his country, and he had managed just as well so far, god-fucking-damn-it. If he could maintain his cool while cleaning up after those bloody pest like pigeons he could very well maintain his cool while him and Chanyeol worked together, thankfully led by Yixing this time. It was easier to follow instructions than find ways to keep his hands busy. It was what he had always done. Instructions were good. Instructions were easy. Instructions were algorithmic, and there’s no algorithmic function that relies on spontaneity. No, algorithms are set courses for data. Like flying planes, where you _must_ know what you’re doing before you enter the cockpit. Did Chanyeol think Baekhyun would be able to fly a plane if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do mid-air—did he really thing going against the set course did not result in catastrophe?

Baekhyun was breathing hard, blood rushing in his ears again. The makeshift coops were squeaky clean now, ready for any and every pigeon in the whole-bloody-world to come and lay their eggs. At least that was one task the scientist could not fault him on.

Said man was training Mongryong into becoming a bird-guard, a watch-dog, a flight assistant, if you will, and while the scientist was making some decent attempts—could he be any more aggravatingly efficient—the corgi was nothing but useless, plonking on the ground for treats instead of fetching the balls Chanyeol was trying to throw in the direction of the coop. One such ball hit Baekhyun square on his back, and he could do nothing but yell an aggravated “hey!!” in shock, flustered. It was fine, probably an accident, and after his initial overreaction he would have let the incident go had he not heard a snicker from his far left, where the bird-bath was. Seriously, what was this scientist’s problem?

“Something funny, Park-ssi?”

“Nothing beyond the obvious,” came the answer.

Baekhyun grunted, making to leave the area. He would need to call Minseok to calm himself down. The man and Junmyeon-hyung had spent a full hour on call with him last night. Baekhyun could not find it in himself to speak about what had transpired during the day, only grateful Kyungsoo and Kim Jongin had not witnessed all of it, even if they had stuck around long enough to be able to predict what probably happened. Still, Minseok and Junmyeon could tell something was wrong, and had tried several times to engage Baekhyun in inane conversation during their call, mostly making awkward dad-jokes and giggling at them themselves. Their cheer, by the end of the call, had been infectious enough to bring a smile on Baekhyun’s face as well, and he had been determined to start fresh today. His goal had been to do the work that was assigned to him and get out of the fields by sunset, since no pigeons had laid any eggs to incubate—so far. Even if his teammate made every single bone in his jaw tick, he was determined to see the day through, reminding himself that he was no quitter.

That was one plan down the drain. Baekhyun could only hope he did not catch Covid even on a vaccine before sunset. Tomorrow, he would talk to Kyungsoo about taking him in his team instead. Since they had no in-charge, they also did not have any formal assignments, and so it would not matter if he worked under Yixing or Seungkwan. Verily, he had the highest rank, even informally, amongst all the people on this mission anyway. Only Yixing hyung was older than him, and if push came to shove he could be easily persuaded.

Baekhyun hoped for a night of peace with his plan sorted. While he had escaped any more misfortune that day, he had still spent it on edge, barely able to stomach any of the food Kim Mingyu had cooked for them, Jongdae assisting. He felt like a cat that had swallowed a cotton ball, unable to regurgitate the mass out, feeling it grow heavier every second he tried to keep it in. There was something he was trying to not think of, as if in thinking he would become more himself, more real, and the daisies growing on the field would prick at him like thorns. His food tasted like cotton, chewing it felt like chewing cotton, even looking up at the people at the table he could only see cotton for heads, the scientist’s most prominent, the biggest ball of cotton he had ever seen. When he noticed Chanyeol pushing food around his plate as well, he could feel nothing but the cotton inside his stomach threading and un-threading, not giving him a moment of respite throughout the night.

—

_Into each life, some rain must fall._

Baekhyun is no stranger to slow mornings. No adult functioning as a complete perfectionist on a daily basis can claim to not being off their heads, for who can speed through the tiny bumps and the big boulders and gigantic, dug up holes in life’s paths while retaining an entirely human countenance? Who in the world can claim to being so perfect that they never turn around and snooze their morning alarm another fifteen minutes, sometimes twenty, rushing through a shower and skipping breakfast to be functional that day? Let he who is without sin throw that first stone—preferably at the many pigeons flocking through their hatching lofts that day, for Baekhyun was too underfed, overslept and rushed, to function beyond the bare minimum today.

It did not take him by surprise when it happened. Why would he be surprised? Trouble does not find you in still waters.

Perhaps good times also reduce one’s capacity for seeing trouble as it is, for Baekhyun, who had not been having a good time since forever, knew something worse was going to happen to him today. Ergo, no surprises for him. He was prepared. Not to face trouble, that is, for he was running only on the measly portion of food he had eaten last night, but to just go through it. To that degree, when the bird attacked him his first thought had not been to run, or swat a pigeon the size of two fists away. No, his first thought had been— _is it possible to faint from this? Can I do that?_ _I just want to collapse._

Contrary to what everyone who screams and runs at the sight of a pigeon might think, birds attacks are, indeed, not fatal. They cannot even be that harmful. You see, all creatures that _can_ see are able to see that humans around them are walking Godzillas, or Titans at the very least. To a pigeon the size of a to-go McDonald’s order packet, it does not make sense to run straight in the direction of a Titan in hopes of killing it with some suspenders and a sword. (The foolishness of that thought is reserved uniquely to our species.) At best, if a pigeon is angry, it will peck at flesh. And pigeons rarely get angry. Or, like most men, deliver anger with violence. It was only Baekhyun’s luck that the one on his gloved arm was a particularly feisty one. Of course, it was not Baekhyun’s misfortune but his lack of attention on his own hand while he pointedly stared at the back of a particular scientist’s head, that led to the attack itself—for in his hands was now a hungry pigeon, one jealous of all the feed his flock had enjoyed, and angry at the dumb man for not bringing more, or paying attention to him when he pecked at his glove.

We noted this pigeon was feisty. It was also very smart. It knew the glove was some protective gear that reduced sensation; it just felt thick to his claws. So our clever and feisty pigeon did what any clever and feisty and _hungry_ pigeon in his position would have done.

He went for the face.

Baekhyun, who had trained years for sharpened reflexes, built enough muscle working out to make Tim Ferris and jealous, had abs on a Sunday, spotted fighter planes in his vicinity like he was playing Minesweeper during his pilot days, was, let us say, caught off-guard. By the time he had come to his senses and stopped dancing from one foot to another—if only Rain sunbaenim could see him move now—the pigeon had created an artwork poignant enough to make any MET artist jealous. Who said Impressionism was a thing of yesterday?

A few cuts on his cheek where the pigeon had tried to perch and a few jabs to his forehead where the pigeon had tried to knock sense into him. Baekhyun could feel them more than see when he looked into the mirror Seungkwan had brought to him at the scene of crime, for Yixing had instructed everyone to not cause a commotion after the initial attack, to ensure that the remaining pigeons did not fly away in fear. Kyungsoo had sighed angrily, if one could sigh at the precipice of rage and resignation, and asked Baekhyun to sit in a corner while the rest, who had crowded him immediately, were instructed to go back to their spots with minimal commotion. Baekhyun was expecting Kyungsoo to do what he usually did: click his tongue at the entire world for compounding his own troubles by not being as trouble-free as him, and then mother over Baekhyun like he did the first time Baekhyun injured himself in military training. Once the First-Aid box had been brought over and Baekhyun had dutifully sat down in the field waiting for the environmentalist, however, Kyungsoo notified him that he was going to fetch a bottle of water; it was Park Chanyeol flopping down in front of him instead.

The box was placed between them. A gaping Baekhyun found it difficult to shut his eyes for the nursing that was to ensue. A wet towel was handed to him to clean his face with. While Chanyeol took out some cotton swabs and disinfectant, Baekhyun’s last coherent thought was that Park probably did not comb his hair today, and that they’d need a barber to cut that overgrown mullet.

“Where does it hurt the most?” Park’s eyes were also as big Kyungsoo’s. How could that be? How did proportionality work like that? He seemed to have eyes perfect for his face while Soo’s seemed to be popping any moment, and Baekhyun’s seemed too small on a bloated day. Why were people with height so blessed?

“Byun.” Park’s voice was deeper now.

Baekhyun straightened up and pointed at the cuts on his face first, hissing when the disinfectant made contact. “It’s just going to sting for a second.” Baekhyun knew that, but did Chanyeol know some moments could stretch into years, and some years could be squeezed into a single moment of incoherence?

“Don’t use anything but medicated soap on your face. I’ll giveyou an ointment to apply before you go to sleep. Try not to turn around too much on your pillow. Is your head okay?”

It wasn’t. He was definitely concussed. He nodded yes.

“Alright, that’s—” Baekhyun held onto Chanyeol’s wrist before he could remove his hand from Baekhyun’s forehead. Those big eyes were finally on him now. “Why are you doing this?

Chanyeol could probably hear his heart hammering, the blood rushing in his ears again. “What?” he asked back. Baekhyun pointed out as much, albeit his confidence was betrayed by how he whispered the words. “I asked first.”

Chanyeol chuckled, then, probably also feeling how clammy Baekhyun’s palm had gotten. It had to be his fault, him and his warm hand. “It doesn’t work like that Byun.”

“Then how does this work? Why are you treating me? Didn’t you throw a ball at me yesterday?”

Chanyeol would not meet his eyes, plucking a few daisies from under his sneakers. “I’m not evil. I won’t stop trying to be a good person just because bad things happen. And the ball was unintentional!” he argued, now looking straight at Baekhyun with his eyes almost popping out. “You won’t refuse to feed the pigeon that attacked you today right? You won’t even be able to recognise it anyway!”

Baekhyun probably definitely had a concussion. He laughed, Or giggled. Or made sounds that crazy people with concussions do when they feel lightheaded, lighthearted, like all the weight in the world is off them. “I’m going to get your head checked for a concussion. What the fuck, Byun—why are you giggling—” Chanyeol was saying but Baekhyun could not care. Oh, how foolish had he been, thinking the flowers would prick him yesterday. He could crush them with his fingers and chew them up like a cow today, make bouquets, pluck petals until they filled him in and he was more daisy than blood.

**_I’m not Cool- HyunA_ **

A pigeon had bonded with Chanyeol. There was trouble.

Chanyeol was usually soft-hearted, but had he gone too far? Even beloved Monggie did not lather him with this much attention. The pigeon would follow him everywhere, Chanyeol could feel his gaze upon him from a distance. Sometimes, he could feel his hunger, and goosebumps would rise on his skin with the intensity. When he worked, the pigeon noted each of his movements, and responded in parallel. When he rested, the pigeon flew circles in his mind. When he ate, the pigeon quietly put kimchi sides by his plate. When he looked up, the pigeon smiled at him like he had hung the moon.

Pigeon bonds were unbreakable, yes, but they were also like loose laces, tied together not by fate but by hands going here and there where they should not and tying these strings together. There was no nature to it, only desire, or perhaps the desire itself was natural, for Chanyeol could not locate in his rational mind its source. It was simply...there. Chanyeol had been favoured with much romantic attention all his life, it came with the territory of being both smart and good-looking, thank you very much. Even in his animal-loving days, when he would parade his pet ferret around school like it was a sparkling diamond (which Jjaru had been, to his twelve-year old mind), he would only feel awe and love from his classmates, everyone wanting to be his friend. In university, when people asked him out under the guise of tutoring or offered him drinks at clubs, he could easily surmise he was attractive to an acceptable degree. Yet, the thrill of all that attention on him throughout his life combined could not match up to the way he felt when he felt Baekhyun looking at him while he worked. It just felt....strange. And Chanyeol’s problem was that he did not hate it. He didn’t like it either—absolutely not, but he could not bring himself to turn around to ask the man to stop. Especially after he had turned into the most pleasant coworker overnight.

Chanyeol couldn’t pinpoint it. The man had certainly not had a change of heart—or personality, overnight. He had not turned up to work the morning after his injury in white hair and a leather jacket like an idol that would make him infinitely sexier—nay, sexy, nor had Baekhyun offered him flowers before breakfast to thank him for the first-aid yesterday. As a matter of fact, that would have been easier to deal with—he could simply reject the flowers for their outrageousness and get on with his day. But no, Byun had just been Byun. Turning up in jeans and a black t-shirt with a watch on his arm that he removed before wearing the gloves this time, the scabs on face evident. If anything, he was more patient today, petting the pigeons to avoid any more catastrophe. Yixing was by his side, smiling at the patience the man was showing.

All this was fine. It was very fine. It would have been more than fine in fact if all that continued to be just that. But Byun managed to be a bother even after being mauled by a bird. Really, was there no lesson to be learned? He would often turn around and look at Chanyeol while he worked, smiling at him when they made eye-contact. Then, he would go back to maintaining a respectful distance. Then sometimes he would offer Chanyeol water, or a snack. And he was smart about it! Offering some to Yixing as well so that it didn’t look awkward. How did this man get his hands on candy in the devil’s hole of land they were in?

Chanyeol tried to keep his mind off these intrusions. The less he thought about them the better. There was much else to focus on anyway. More pigeons were flocking to the hatching pods these days, and the lofts continuously smelled of poop. He would have to ask Sehun if the boy was cleaning the lofts in Gwangju properly, and whether they had been able to put trackers on birds on their side of the country. The Seoul team had fared well with the fanciers’ gentle hands. The birds had taken to Yixing, Jongdae and Seungkwan like they were old kin, and perhaps they were. Animals were so loving, he thought, petting Monggie who had plonked at his foot, tummy up, again. If he could talk without anyone hearing him, he’d talk to Monggie, tell the corgi he reminded him of his own puppy back home, and how much he enjoyed him licking at his face, and how he wished he could do this everyday, how boring his job had become before this mission, how he had been exhausted of the pandemic, and how he missed going to clubs, and how he felt too old to go to clubs anymore, for he was, and how life even before the pandemic was not living at all—for who spends all their time delegating research work to juniors on finding alternative energy sources? It was good work, important work, difficult work even, but Chanyeol could only find in himself envy every time he saw Kyungsoo doing what he got to do, seeing what he got to see. Men of science do not belong with the machines, or the papers.

On second thoughts, it was better to not tell Monggie all that, his pea brain would not be able to take it. Chanyeol smiled to himself, tickling the corgi’s tummy. “Monggie-ssi, let’s go to a club once the pandemic ends! Will you be ajhussi’s date? Will you? Will you—”

“Chanyeol. It’s time for lunch,” Byun’s voice announced next to him. Chanyeol breathed deeply, his smile waning but not disappearing, eyes still on Monggie as he nodded.

—

Seungkwan was not crude enough to use a two birds/one stone analogy here, but it was a little like getting two birds with one stone. Or three.

This was because the first two were a pair, a set of two—or would be, by the end of the day, if all things went well. Seungkwan had a theory. It went with years of work with birds, which was a lot of collecting bird poop and a lot less of actually sitting with birds for wise sermons. Yet, he was an observant boy and some things were simply easier to observe. Like, for example, birds of one colour were attracted to things of the same colour. Red hummingbirds sat on red pansies; buntings usually favoured yellow shades; and the darker ones in Jeju preferred to forage near woods and plants instead of bright flowers. Pigeons, of course, were perhaps the only silly ones. It probably came with the territory of being more evolved, as most pigeons could see ultra-violet, and therefore, unlike it was for other birds, no white scared them. They would dive head first towards white walls and poop on them like they were avian public property. Perhaps it was how pigeons simply were, reckless in courting danger and having innate abilities to pull through such stunts. Tiny hummingbirds, however, courted gently and with familiarity. A hummingbird will not be attracted to the shine of a bright white daisy, but instead perch on red azaleas without fear. Smaller birds had to be eased into a garden, they were not the kind to dive-in.

Who was to explain all this to Jongin-hyung, who jumped at Kyungsoo-hyung like a chasing spotlight any minute he could? Kyungsoo-hyung was kind and patient, but even he would have his limits. Seungkwan was sure the man did not entirely disapprove of Jongin-hyung, for he did not seem the type to be unable to communicate his dislike. If anything, it was his like that seemed harder to communicate, his smiles few and far in-between throughout their days spent in the field. It was, in fact, this that had convinced Seungkwan that Jongin-hyung’s pursuit was no lost cause, and Seungkwan was the type who liked causes. A lot of them. It was just his nature to find himself involved in things before he even knew it. It happened with the pigeons, it happened with micromanagement of this entire mission, and it was bound to happen with Jongin-hyung’s love life. For this reason, he had decided to intervene and save Jongin-hyung from further embarrassing himself and/or angering Kyungsoo-hyung when the man did not stop demanding a campfire. It was a decent request, but Jongin’s intentions were too visible, and Seungkwan could see Kyungsoo losing his patience over the thought of any more work getting delayed. “It’s not a bad idea, hyung. It will be good for the land to not appear completely barren in the evening. We all could also use some relaxation.”

That was the first stone. Kyungsoo had agreed reluctantly, but an agreement was an agreement. And this agreement would allow Seungkwan to finally track that Mingyu down and strike a deal for those trackers. Did he say he was helping Jongin-hyung for love?

It was pure business that made him sit next to Mingyu during that campfire. They had travelled beyond the field to set it up, some of them bringing logs while the other started a fire and cooked ramen. Jongdae hyung was humming next to Chanyeol-ssi, who was strumming a guitar. Seungkwan smiled at seeing his brother, always in awe of how well he could sing.

“Do you sing as well as him?” a voice asked.

Startled out of this thoughts, Seungkwan was surprised to see the taller smiling at him. Even more surprised that Mingyu had started the conversation. It threw him off his initial plan, since he had already prepared a mental script for extracting his favour. Nevertheless, he could adapt. “Certainly not. Hyung is the best singer in Jeju.”

Mingyu appeared puzzled. “Then why is he not singing? And you, what can you do?”

Seungkwan could feel his patience thinning. It seemed like the scientist was one of those people. The you-raise-pigeons-when-you-could-be-doing-anything-else type. “I can do a lot of things, none of which is your business. I do important things everyday, I will not have them disrespected when your team is the one that needs my service.”

Mingyu spluttered at that, the ramen he was slurping swallowed quicker than it should have. “No no, sorry, you got it wrong! I didn’t mean that—“

“You didn’t mean what—?”

“I just meant your brother sings very well and would do well as a singer. I was just… wondering…what you also did, besides this…like I cook…very well…sorry…”

Seungkwan looked up at the boy’s embarrassed face. He looked like a kicked puppy. He fell at a loss for words. On one hand, he wanted to placate him and tell him it was fine, he was just used to being judged for his profession easily, and felt defensive of it. On the other, he still wanted his trackers, and thoughts of how long it would take if they were commissioned through him versus if they were commissioned through Mingyu crossed his mind. He could simply hold his breath and do the mental maths.

Mingyu must have done his own mental maths and come to his own conclusions. “I’m really sorry. Should I apologise properly? I really didn’t mean that, Seungkwan-ssi. I was actually hoping to ask you if I could visit your workplace someday and see the pigeons for myself. It seems so fascinating, and I have never bene to Jeju with a local. Ah, I feel terrible, is there any way I can fix this…”

Seungkwan shushed him. “Don’t worry, I just felt defensive. You can visit any time! But, I will hold you to that fav—” a new voice could be heard singing now. Both Seungkwan and Mingyu turned away to spot Kyungsoo sitting next to Chanyeol while the latter played a soothing tune on his guitar. The man’s voice was in stark contrast to Jongdae’s, but equally magnetic. If Jongin had not been in love before he must have been head-over-heels by now. Seungkwan looked at the man, who was sitting across Kyungsoo-hyung, next to Byun-ssi, of all people, swaying lightly with the man next to him. The picture of devotion, both of them.

**_That’s Okay- Do Kyungsoo_ **

The grass was dewy under his feet as Baekhyun buried his toes in it. He could still feel the warmth of the dying campfire and the ramen he ate, pleased to have such a memorable night after so long. Kyungsoo’s singing had taken him back to his training days, where the weight of the world did not rest on him. Or at least he felt he was able to bear it. Nowadays, Baekhyun could feel himself waning, his knees trembling sometimes, when he looked at the burning fire, thinking how big it could get, bigger than him even.

At a distance, faint plucking of strings could be heard. Almost everyone had retired for the night, too sleepy to stay up. Jongin had even thanked him for talking about Kyungsoo to him before leaving, which made the pilot smile—he was sure Kyungsoo liked having Jongin around. That shortie was nothing but a coconut, and given the way he indulged all of Jongin’s bizarre demands , it was clear the boy had cracked the nut well enough. Kyungsoo was easy like that, very snappy about decisions. He did not have to be convinced into liking something—he did not like the thrill of risks, preferring to make simple choices and sticking by them.

And as Baekhyun saw Park Chanyeol sitting across him now, strumming his guitar as he watched something on his screen, earphones plugged in, he realised he might as well be the opposite—a thrill chaser.

He cleared this throat. “This is my first time seeing someone relax by multitasking.”

Park looked up, smiling before pausing his screen. “I just don’t want to miss this. It’s Biden on one of those late night interview shows. Uhm—” Chanyeol paused a moment before offering one of his AirPods to him. Baekhyun took that as an invitation to sit next to the man, which he promptly did.

The US President nominee was on screen, speaking of “bringing America back.” Baekhyun had met the man as a previous envoy a few years back, but he seemed to have changed tremendously, far more outspoken now. Chanyeol seemed supremely impressed of the coherence, humming in appreciation when the man out laid plans. “This kind of comprehension is what their country needs right now,” he stated. “No flair. Just work.”

Baekhyun was tethering on the edge of disapproval, wary of crossing Park and disrupting the precarious balance they maintained. More things were at stake now. And yet. “Let’s see how he fares. I can’t trust the Americans Chanyeol-ssi. I can’t even trust them to vote him in. Besides, new liaisons are riskier.”

Chanyeol clicked his tongue. “Vote or not, we will have to live with Washington. What has the MoD thought of?”

“The same thing we always think of? Peace talks, maintaining good peace with neighbours, straddling relations with three countries that do not like each other while fighting one we hate and all that. Sometimes I worry about the President.”

Chanyeol nodded along. “He seems to be doing fine. I have faith in him.”

Baekhyun shifted. “I cannot have faith in any of them, Chanyeol-ssi. President Lee or the entirety of Washington, definitely not the north. I—”

“Baekhyun.” Chanyeol did not seem to be able to speak more. “Sometimes I truly hate it. What you do.”

Baekhyun had expected that, but it still hurt. “I-I’m—”

“I understand you’re wary of movement. You are in murky waters. I get that. But is it that hard to take a chance and think of a more independent Korea? Across all borders, aren’t there just people? Till when will we parlay in these guns? The north thinks of us as a mere joke—”

“I _know_ that. Do you really think I don’t know that? I understand yours is a…liberal stance. I am not denying it. Sometimes it’s just…safer to be quiet Chanyeol. We are a shrimp between many whales.”

Chanyeol did not argue further, carefully putting his guitar in its case and eyeing the campfire as he sat next to him. “Let’s see what happens. When the time comes, I just hope you make the right choice.”

Baekhyun hummed. “Can we forget about this? This election and this job? You miss clubs right? My original intention had been to replicate the Hannamdong experience here,” he smiled weakly.

Baekhyun expected Chanyeol’s scoff. He did not expect the man to offer him his cellphone.

—

**_Stay with Me- Miki Matsubara_ **

It is a common myth that animals do not understand music. Those of us who tried to make our cats appreciate Tchaikovsky will sympathise, but it must be known that the same way you have to lift the pig, which cannot lift its head from its neck, to show the creature, for the first time in his life, a sky full of stars, you have to sing very specific songs to make animals enjoy them. It is a lot of biology and physics and the curious things that make us who we are and them who they are, and not something as banal as taste. What has taste to do with enjoying music?

Baekhyun felt compelled to explain this to Chanyeol as they danced. The man was laughing at his choice. Verily, a Korean minister dancing to Japanese music was, to some degree, bizarre. Would be condemned in every media outlet possible. Naver would have a field day. His car would be keyed before sunset. But it was simply biology, the music matching his mood, the lyrics speaking for him as much as they spoke _to_ him, the heavy drum matching the pace of his jumpy heart—how could any other song fit?

“It feels like we are in the 90s,” Chanyeol giggled. He _giggled._ “Say, Byun, was that the last time you went to a club?”

Baekhyun smiled congenially before being twirled around by his tall partner. “You’re telling me this is not how they dance at clubs these days?”

Chanyeol laughed. Out loud, to boot. Baekhyun would have declared his mission successful right then. They were semi-waltzing, semi-swaying next to a dying campfire, Chanyeol’s AirPods plugged in one ear each, soju bottles emptied in a corner. “Minister Byun,” the scientist started authoritatively, “A club visit is long overdue. You must be familiarised with Blackpink.”

Baekhyun smiled at that. “National treasures, I’m sure. But tell me, is this really not good enough? We could always have more people in one of the rooms and have them pissed drunk—I can ask Jongin to DJ—”

Chanyeol laughed with his head thrown back this time, shaking his head. Baekhyun, who had been worried just a second ago, found himself relieved at that. If Chanyeol was enjoying himself then his makeshift club visit could not be too bad, right?

“No, this is good,” Park Chanyeol’s large, almond eyes smiled down at him. “More than good.”

Some songs last forever. Baekhyun could have stayed in that field forever, that dying fire could have burned forever and their feet could have moved one step forwards two steps to each other’s right forever. But all good music has to have an end. It is in the brevity of song that we can appreciate the infinity of sound. “It’s getting late,” Park Chanyeol whispered once the music and their dancing feet had stopped. Baekhyun hoped his face did not betray his disappointment. He was a gentleman, after all.

“Yes. Thank you for this dance, Minister Park,” he bowed, bent at full ninety degrees.

Chanyeol chuckled at him, bowing back before collecting their soju bottles and pulling Baekhyun by the arm with him in the direction of their hotel. Baekhyun, a simple pigeon with no twigs to offer the scientist, felt the warmth of his palm again, and realised that he could deliver several twigs at Chanyeol’s feet. The whole world, even.

**_Whistle-Blackpink_ **

The first time was…eventful.

It had to be, since Jongin was the one who discovered it. His excitement would have scared the entire pigeon population off their field if Chanyeol had not managed to shush him in time. The boy was bouncing on his toes, smiling brighter than the sun that shone overhead. “Can I tell Hyung? _Please_ Chanyeol hyung, we have to tell everyone.” Jongin left to get Kyungsoo and Seungkwan right away, while Chanyeol investigated the pod to look for the egg he had left unattended in his hurry. It was quite a success for their team, the first among the three to have a squab egg in their hatching pod. This egg meant the pigeons trusted them. It meant they could finally place trackers on the birds and redirect them away from the cities, feed them in the outskirts. It meant they could, eventually, help Kyungsoo reduce pigeon population for the next two years. It meant in a couple months, there would be a quarter less disease-carrying birds in the air. It also meant things were working out.

Chanyeol smiled to himself, ears catching on to the commotion Jongin was making. Yixing was now next to him, smiling too at the tiny egg in front of him. “Oh, how tiny!” Mingyu exclaimed from behind him. Almost everyone had collected near the loft, ready to see their first pigeon egg. Chanyeol could feel both Jongin and Mingyu looking at the thing from over his shoulder. Since there were few pigeons around, Chanyeol picked the egg up to pass to Mingyu, feeling inexplicably giddy. “Mingyu-yah, do the honours!”

The tall boy seemed terrified of the tiny egg at first, hesitant to take it, but on Chanyeol’s encouragement he pulled the egg into his gloved hand and replaced it with the replica Kyungsoo had fetched, handing the real one to Kyungsoo, who would be the one disposing it. Chanyeol did not want to think of what was going to happen to the egg eventually, for it felt too cruel to his heart. Looking at Seungkwan getting teary-eyed and be placated by his brother was enough of a reminder anyway.

The sound of a phone ringing struck him, for rarely did they get calls during the day. All friends and family calls were scheduled for either the evening or early morning, for while city birds were not unfamiliar to cellphones, Yixing had noted that the sudden noises could shock them away, and that it was best to be cautious. Thankfully, this one was too low to cause a scare, and Chanyeol looked up to note it was coming from Byun’s phone.

“It’s President Lee,” the man announced, before leaving to take the call. “It must be about the US elections. Joe Biden seems to be winning so far,” Jongin stated from next to him.

Chanyeol was aware of the elections, very aware of the fact that Biden had been winning, as he too had stayed up last night checking the news repeatedly. But, letting it all sink in for a moment, looking at Baekhyun’s retreating back, he wondered if he was aware at all. If he could ever be truly aware, of the worlds they inhabited outside and the strange world they were trying to straddle inside. Or, well, inside the outside they were in, where foreign policy could be reduced to Youtube videos and campfire discussions, where words spoken out loud could have no negative impact, not even on him. But wouldn’t the squab egg have to be disposed eventually? To Chanyeol, who sometimes only wanted the world to be a better place, all realities seemed cruel, and he wished he could spot a meteor the size of a pigeon egg in the sky.

“It’s just, they nest together…” a teary-eyed, sombre Seungkwan was telling Mingyu, who seemed very concerned. “The female will come for her shift soon. I don’t want to see her disappointment when the eggs don’t hatch.” A wise woman once said the birth of a child is no coincidence, no chance happening*. The death of one, as Seungkwan was bound to witness, wouldn’t be either. Both the male and the female lay down their haughty feathers and demure airs to incubate the egg on a daily basis, taking turns. A fine compromise. Together, they make something beautiful. Many things are received in giving.

Baekhyun seemed done with his call, but he did not return to resume his task. “Sorry, a lot is going on right now. Donald Trump is asking for a recount. We will have to plan ahead either way…” Chanyeol had never seen Baekhyun so frazzled, nor had he seen the man avoid him so singularly. He was simply not making eye-contact. “I have to take calls with Minseok and President Lee. You will have to excuse me for the day. Sorry.”

Baekhyun was gone before Chanyeol could reach out, calm him down, tell him it was fine, that whatever the outcome, he would be able to handle his choices, that all monsters in a horror film are scarier until we see them, after which they are not terrifying at all.

All this and so much more, but all Chanyeol brought along with himself that night was dinner to Baekhyun’s room. The man had not left his room after holing himself up inside. When Chanyeol had walked by earlier, he had heard him speaking to Junmyeon hyung. Chanyeol knew that he too would be involved in meetings once the final President was announced, but until the United States reached a consensus (was that country for real?!) foreign policies and war strategies were left only under the Ministry of Defence. Which meant the Minister of Defence was stuck coordinating with his various Chiefs of Staff and the President, as well as any ambassador, until they could finalise plans for both the outcomes, for a Trump administration was wary of Korean unity, and therefore any US dealings could not overtly present Korean unity at the forefront, even if that was the administrative demand. And while a moderate Biden administration would perhaps be more amenable to retracting its presence while maintaining diplomatic ties, Chanyeol had no clue what that would mean for their military budget, besides several more meetings for Baekhyun. At least the one with Junmyeon happening right now stood finished, the pilot had been staring at him blankly for a minute now.

**_Jaane ye kya hua- KK_ **

Every second Chanyeol stood in his room, Baekhyun felt the weight on his shoulders wither away, turning from lead to cotton, breezing by him, encasing the man in front of him in its infinite softness. Chanyeol, of contradictions, was both lanky, tall, muscled, and at the same time soft, gentle, beady-eyed. The smell of food wafting into his nose broke him from his stupor, and it must have registered to Chanyeol for Baekhyun could not begin thanking him before the man was pulling him to his bed, passing the tray along. Before he knew it, Baekhyun was chewing on a mouthful of kimbap.

Chanyeol was smiling at him as he ate. Baekhyun sheepishly offered some of the food to him. “I already ate,” he replied, pushing the tray back. “Seriously Byun, I could feel your stomach grumbling at the Richter scale. Please do not skip meals,” Chanyeol looked up at him. “Nurse’s orders,” he winked.

Baekhyun smiled for the first time that day, then. He could not pinpoint how being around Chanyeol made things easier. How he had thought and rethought his decisions the entire day, had given excuses to President Lee instead of actual answers, had asked Minseok to help him make some decisions because in front of all that stood before him, he, for the first time in his life, felt small. Like he could not take on his job. Like he was doing things wrong. Like no way was a way out. Like he was not being pushed to a corner, but floating underwater.

And Chanyeol, an anchor.

“Thank you,” Baekhyun stated sincerely, finding no other words in him.

Chanyeol put the now-empty tray aside before sitting back next to him, somehow understanding that silence was the best gift he could offer Baekhyun then. His warm palm slid into Baekhyun’s.

“I...am scared, Chanyeol,” he could feel Chanyeol nodding from the corner of his eye. Both of them were facing the window, which could only show some faint lights in the darkness of the night, a sun that had set too soon. “Earlier, I never worried. Now I keep thinking what if I am making the wrong decision? How will we survive it?” Baekhyun’s head hung low, his eyes on their clasped arms as a shiver passed through him. “I think it’s best if we maintain the alliance. We cannot retract our troops and we cannot have our guards down. But you and everyone else thinks it would be better to get done with the alliance. Who will account for the lives lost if war starts tomorrow? Where do I go from here?”

Baekhyun sought many answers, but Chanyeol could not give any of them. He was not even looking at him. “No choice you make will be ideal, Baekhyun. But you still have to make it.”

“That leaves us nowhere.”

Chanyeol finally looked at him. “It leaves me here. With you.”

—

Baekhyun had barely been out of his teen age when he first signed up for the military. Everyone knew him as a pilot, but he had in fact spent his compulsory years as a soldier before entering his Academy. It had simply made more sense to spend time as a soldier before deciding which branch of defence he wanted to take up, for he always knew where he wanted to be. Growing up with a father who was a disciplined General and a mother who had showered on him all the love he could ask for, he had never questioned where he belonged. It was with them, like them. The decision to join the Academy had been quick and appreciated, so had been that of expanding his education to the Air Command and Air Warfare. All throughout his academic years, he had been a spotter, eagle-eyed, always wary and on-guard. Perhaps it was the same vigilance that informed his strategies today, for he could never give up the fear of being wingless in an open sky; suspended in free fall. It was a quality his colleagues appreciated, and flying was an activity he had deep love for, but love should not have made him as afraid as he was.

And so, Baekhyun had begun the talks as anyone in his position did. He spoke to Minseok, Junmyeon hyung, his father, his mother, and even President Lee on a private call. He even consulted Kyungsoo, who only hummed and nodded at him, no approval or disapproval evident. It had been a brighter morning at their field, Seungkwan and Jongdae placing trackers on all the birds they could find while the rest followed routine, sneakily replacing one egg from the hatching pod after another. Chanyeol was nowhere in sight, perhaps sleeping in, and Baekhyun found it to be for the better, for his heart was racing too fast to face Chanyeol now. It would have been better to have things finalised first, but they were in a pandemic for fuck’s sake. Paperwork could wait.

“Chanyeol is not coming?” he asked Jongin, who did not have any answer for him. A pigeon perched itself on his shoulder while he stood dumbly, waiting for the appearance of a tall man from the hotel gate.

“Oh! Baekhyun-ssi, isn’t that the one that attacked you?” Yixing asked with wonder.

Baekhyun felt himself freeze at the thought before turning his head a little to the side to look at the creature. Verily, it did seem familiar, even if his memory did not serve him well for he had had no one but a scientist on his mind that day, much like every other day. Could the pigeon really be the same?

The pigeon looked back at him, slowly twisting its round head halfway, as if trying to make Baekhyun tilt his.

“It seems like you have bonded,” Yixing was now speaking from beside him. “Congratulations, Byun-ssi! Would you like to put the tracker on him?”

A ring thicker than the ones Seungkwan was using was handed over to him while Yixing gently whispered instructions to him. His hand was to move slowly, petting the pigeon so as to not startle him before slipping the tracker on. Since its ends were magnetic, they would click in place automatically, no commotion needed. “Pigeons have an agape kind of love,” Yixing explained without prompting. “This one comes back to you not out of an emotional need to love, but because it wants to be loved.” He smiled. “We’re all a little like that no?”

Baekhyun was lost in his thoughts even as the tracker clicked in place. Yixing was waving at the pigeon as it flew away. “Goodbye,” he smiled at the sky. “You are a part of this now.”

—

Chanyeol had also barely been out of teenage when he enlisted for his military training, wanting to get the process done with. He had not yet decided what exactly he wanted to pursue in college, and taking an additional two years that he would have eventually been required to spend training anyway seemed like the perfect idea. Exactly a year and six months from the day he entered his training, he had left the grounds none too wiser but sure of one thing: he wanted, on his person, no imprint of the army. At least he had been good at eliminating bad choices, and it was this quality that had led him wherever he went—for all science to him was a concentrated effort at reducing, in each iteration, errors. Chanyeol was no boy genius, only a practical man with an objective sense one can use their lives to do good on this planet and do it well. What else could be anyone’s purpose?

Time, of course, weathers all stones, and Chanyeol was no stranger to difficult choices, or the difficulties of choice. The world was not a fair place, certainly not to a country in the midst of a seventy-year war, and he had made regrettable decisions in several contracts, allocations, researches. A practical man, hardened in practicality by years of hard work, more years of leading an entire ministry, and now a pigeon-coop, and yet he could not fathom, for his life, what Baekhyun had just said.

His befuddlement could also have been from other things. After all he had not been expecting Baekhyun to barge into his room for lunch. He had already informed Kyungsoo he needed some time off in the morning, for he had woken up with an inexplicable urge. An urge so bizarre and yet so strong his years of practicality crumbled to dust in front of it. And then, Baekhyun had arrived. In a flurry, all feathers ruffled and hair messed thrice over. Before Chanyeol could even ask him what the man was doing there, the pilot, with his godforsaken bulging bicep and tricep laden arms—which Chanyeol could feel very well just three seconds later—had pulled him up from his blanket cocoon, pushing his iPad aside to kiss him square on the lips.

It had been sudden, but not too sudden to be a peck, and neither long enough to qualify as a kiss. Or at least the kiss one waxes poetic about. What poem would Chanyeol write? That it was rough in the beginning, some accidental biting and some rough pulling of his butt towards the pilot’s pelvis before he could even find his bearings? Or that like every torrid rain that starts with thunder but leaves behind itself only pleasant petrichor, their lips eventually found rhythm, noses breathing each other in, bodies moving in tandem as hands went into hair, skin, clothes and blankets, until Chanyeol’s mind could only focus, singularly, on Baekhyun’s lips on his. Until Baekhyun drank from him like a dying man, like he had been dying all this while, and only, only by holding Chanyeol so close, could he breathe again. What was Chanyeol to think when he was reduced to mere skin, only a piece of paper to be mapped, dotted, doodled on? Whoever thought the fifth sense was the least important needed some real rethinking to do, for if this was the first one a dying body lost then it truly meant death was as tragic as made out to be. He could never live without being touched like this again. He would die if he wasn’t, he really would.

All too soon, Baekhyun’s lips were off him and mumbling incoherently. Much too soon, Chanyeol could beg him to give them back. “What?!” he asked out of frustration.

“Chanyeol—”

“Baekhyun, hey, I’m here—” he shushed the shaking man.

“I am quitting. I want to quit.”

Chanyeol finally opened his eyes, pulling himself back to look at the man in front of him. “What are you saying?”

“I want to quit my job.”

Chanyeol could feel nothingness wash over him. “B-but. _Why_?”

“It just—it makes more sense. I don’t know what to do here. There are so many with more experience, more years on their hands. More time. I—I don’t know—”

“How could you possibly not know? How can you not know what to do? You know exactly what you have to do—” Chanyeol thundered. He could feel the anger rising within him.

“Chanyeol, isn’t this what you wanted? There will be better people making decisions for this country now. I just—I don’t think I can stand to make a bad decision and see its results. If the new Minister chooses more Washington involvement, or if they choose more peace with the north, at least I would not have a role to play in it.”

Chanyeol could no longer hold himself. He was standing at his full height, looking down at a man he thought he knew, a man who surely thought he knew him just as much too. “Is this what you think of me? That I hate your job? That I don’t care what you think so long as you don’t have a war on your hands? Tell me, is that really what you think?”

Baekhyun seemed at a loss for words, grappling for his answer. “Chanyeol I...I am afraid. Of everything. Of you. Of losing you. I like you so much that I am terrified of disappointing you.”

Chanyeol sighed. He felt stifled in the room, unable to be in it any longer. A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind, fogging all coherence. He could only wish for a getaway, some clarity, anything but the muck he was being pushed into. “You only disappoint me when you refuse to face these fears, Byun. I thought we could stay with the trouble.” He made to leave the room, unable to argue any further, think any further.

Baekhyun’s voice stopped him at the door. “You said you would be here with me.”

Chanyeol could not look back, but this answer he knew. “I am,” he stated, before leaving to find Kyungsoo.

—

**_Call Anytime- Jinu (ft. MINO)_ **

One of the finer benefits of being a Minister is the frequent travel. One night will find you drinking sake in your hotel room in Japan, one afternoon will feature biryani for lunch in Hyderabad, and another, all the way across to a beach in Texas with a doughnut in hand. A lot of time has been wasted in the day for meetings, budget discussions, strange tech exchanges and examinations, as if people need any more devices to communicate with. We do not need communication as much as we need to communicate, but who will tell Jongin that? And who is Chanyeol to judge—lest he be judged, for who else so studiously avoids the love of their life that they travel all the way to America to see turtles hatch instead of facing them?

In Chanyeol’s defence, the hatching is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Truthfully, all events are once-in-a-lifetime. Chanyeol could not have built his bird bath twice. He has never seen Monggie plonk at his feet the same way a second time. His mother’s bibimbap always tastes new. Baekhyun’s smiles when he knew he had pissed him off, or when he ate the extra kimchi Baekhyun casually slid on his plate, or when he threw Monggie’s frisbee the pilot’s way so that the dog would chase him, had been different each time.

And yet, the comforting familiarity of each of these different experiences calls to him now. He stands in one corner, a little away from the crowd. The hatching was an annual event, which meant the crowd here was extremely well managed and organised. Seungkwan would have cried at the way everyone seemed to respect the hatchlings here. Chanyeol smiled at that thought. What would Baekhyun have done?

Baekhyun would have done what he did, stare at him from his bed as he packed his luggage the same day Baekhyun told him he was quitting, tracing every single movement, until he could no longer hold his frustration in. “You are abandoning me, Park Chanyeol,” he had said, his eyes almost red from lack of sleep, circles under them evident. Chanyeol had stepped up to him, kissing him a final time for he could not resist that 174cm of pure infuriation. Baekhyun was holding on to his wrists when the two had parted. “Byun. Come back to me when I come back to you.”

Chanyeol could see frustration rising in the man’s eyes again, but he knew that with enough sleep and some more time, Baekhyun would eventually grow to understand why he had to leave. Why he had asked Kyungsoo to let him switch teams with Sehun. Why he had busied himself in vaccine envoys the minute the pigeon mess was considerably sorted. It wasn’t him. Or it was, but not entirely. Chanyeol was a man of science, and men of science were not thinkers, they were doers, experimenters, people who could not rest freely until all errors had been eliminated.

Of course, while the hope of every choice is an ideal result, one can only make the best of what they get. For Chanyeol, it was a tiny egg rolling towards his foot, cushioned by the sand underneath before resting by the tip of his big toe. One of the managers screamed somewhere, but Chanyeol was no stranger to delicate eggs. Before he could pick this one up, a tiny crack appeared. Soon, a scaly limb, then another. Chanyeol slowly bent down while a manager pushed the crowd behind him back, looking at two eyes opening themselves for the first time. The sun was rising across the horizon now. All Chanyeol could see was dawn.

**_Miracles in December_ **

Baekhyun supposed he deserved it.

No, not Chanyeol’s sudden, unexplained departure shrouded in mystery and frustration. That was hard. Those had been some hard, very hard seven months. He was a zombie on the field, plucking daisies to frustratingly pass time so often that Jongdae’s brother Seungkwan once walked up to him and slapped a plucked daisy out of his palm. No fear of god in that one. Once the mission had been completed and enough replacements put in place for pigeon tracking, it had been just as hard to return to his job, because it first meant facing a smug Minseok and an annoyed Junmyeon, both of whom screamed at him for making such an important decision out of nowhere and having them deal with the organisational mess. It had not been that hard facing President Lee, who had gently smiled at him and told him he has glad Baekhyun had not quit.

Baekhyun had initially not shared that sentiment, finding it a struggle to come to terms with any decision well. Sometimes when stuck, he would think deep and hard what Chanyeol would want him to do. If he could not think of an answer, he’d call Kyungsoo for counsel instead, who would often simply not pick up his phone. So, embarrassingly enough, most of his decisions regarding foreign policy over the last few months had been made by a simple game invented by Baekhyun where he looked at the last digit of the time displayed on his phone and made his decision depending on whether the digit was even or odd. (It didn’t matter what the game’s result was, usually, Baekhyun would usually make the choice he initially wanted, except with much more sureness.) Junmyeon had almost been rendered catatonic when Baekhyun explained his game to him, but Baekhyun thought it was better than making decisions on the instinct of war. Keeping Chanyeol in his mind made things much easier.

And Chanyeol had been on his mind. Running circles, taking laps, sometimes playing basketball with him and sometimes baking him a cake. Sometimes, Baekhyun thought of the night Chanyeol had brought him food, the night before everything went to hell, and how they had sat next to each other, not an inch between their shoulders, as they stared into the sky outside through his window.

“Sometimes, I wish I could leave for some time. Forget who I am, you know?” Chanyeol had told him.

Baekhyun felt no need to voice out how well he knew. He only squeezed Chanyeol’s palm into his own more, holding stronger. Chanyeol’s voice had come out sheepish when he spoke next. “You’ll remember me though, right? Even if I leave?”

Baekhyun would have remembered his riddles forever. He even remembered the way he scratched Monggie’s tummy, rubbing in that same motion for the demanding dog who would chase him as he tried to leave for work every morning. Bringing Monggie home after the mission had been a no-brainer. Baekhyun remembered every single dream he dreamt of living with Chanyeol.

Therefore, of course, he remembered why he deserved it. If he had scared Chanyeol once with a sudden kiss, their first almost being a pigeon attack on Chanyeol’s face on his part—thank god his face was not beak and only lips—then it was fair that their first kiss now would be Chanyeol pigeon-attacking him back as he tried to read a file in his office. Baekhyun barely had the chance to register someone — _Chanyeol—_ was in the room before he was being hauled up his seat for a kiss, one hand trying to push his files off the table while the other undid his suit button. It was all teeth and lips and tongues, beaks and claws, a very wild flight, before it glided into smoothness and Baekhyun was pulling the tall man closer by his waist, depositing him on his table with gentleness, slowing their kisses down to mere nips, breathing him in for the first time in months. Baekhyun ran his hand through Chanyeol’s soft hair, stopping at his nape before he pushed their foreheads close. They were breathing hard.

Chanyeol mumbled something. Baekhyun smiled, knowing it was going to be another riddling thought. “What?” he said, smile evident on his face, eyes boring into the scientist’s. He felt like he was all teeth, only smiles.

“I said,” Chanyeol giggled, “I would have come much sooner if I knew you looked this hot at work.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it here--thank you for reading this story! I hope you enjoy the others in this fest too! please also subscribe for an epilogue coming as soon as my boss gives me some time off!!!
> 
> and and and--a lot of my research/references are from this beautiful Donna Hallaway book called Staying With The Trouble. Do read her work if you ever get the time! The story title is from a Maggie Smith poem that's close to my heart in case you're into poetry!


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